


Burning Bridges

by xerios



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Threats of Death, Threats of Violence, big scary monster/sarcastic little shit, college level art student joins the doom squad, the goblin whisperer, threats in general
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 03:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9581708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerios/pseuds/xerios
Summary: An art student wanders into the back area of the museum, loses their midterm to goblins and gets a job offer.





	1. Midterm Blues

"Oh for fuck's sake."

It was exactly two'o'clock in the afternoon on a Monday that had started out relatively good for its reputation as the most torturous day of the week.

Parking on campus had been tolerable, the early morning studio class had passed by without anyone having a nervous breakdown, and there had been a coupon for a free coffee in the local paper. Having had to work a double shift at the Taco Shack over the weekend had severely limited the time allotted towards midterms, so it was with the expectant air of finally being able to be productive homework-wise that Avery had driven her ratty ass pick up across town to the local art museum.

She had scoped it out the previous Friday.

There had been a nice little niche with a small collection of marble busts that had been just about perfect for contour work. All her preliminary lines had looked fantastic. She had even managed to not break any of her pencils in the process.  
But apparently the powers that be had simply been luring her into a false sense of security - the busts were gone. In their place sat a case of renaissance era pottery - which, while fascinating to look at, was not the exhibit she had been expecting.

For a brief moment Avery stood there, letting the weight of her backpack drag her shoulders down until she was hunched to the point of almost falling over and various joints started screaming in protest. Defeat, however, was not an option - the midterm deadline was this upcoming Friday. Starting over with something else was not exactly a viable solution to the presented problem. Work demanded her Wednesdays and Thursdays on a continual basis.

There just wasn't enough time.

"Right," Avery muttered, standing up straight and adjusting the straps on her bag. She looked around the corridor with some consideration, spotting a door with an 'Employees Only' sign further down the wall. "Fail midterms or get a trespassing charge on your record. What an easy choice."

She had already started walking upon seeing the door, pausing only to make sure the oversized newsprint pad strapped haphazardly to her bag wasn't sliding off again.

The door was not locked and swung open rather easily. Beyond was a short hallway with two more doors on the right that looked like they might lead to offices. Unlike the main area of the museum which was lined with bright floor to ceiling length windows and aesthetically pleasing accents, this portion was entirely utilitarian. The floors were black linoleum and the walls oddly blank - not a memo board in sight. It was strangely dim as well, with only half the florescent lighting actually turned on at the moment.

"Okay, bad idea number three hundred and nine is up and running."

Glancing at the two doors to the right, Avery made her way to the corner. On the left was a door labelled as leading to the utility stairwell and finally a bulletin board - made of actual cork, upon further examination, and full of memos that looked to be at least three weeks out of date. She let out a slightly frustrated sigh, flicking a strand of faded teal out of her eye before turning to look further down the corridor.

There were a couple more doors, including a set of double ones at the far end that looked somewhat promising. If only those responsible for labelling the stairs had actually put in the effort to label everything else.

Setting off down the corridor, she paused only to check the few other doors on the way. One of them led to a small break room, empty and unlit. The second door yielded a janitor's closet, from which she pilfered an industrial sized roll of paper towels - useful in the never ending battle to rid one's hands of charcoal residue. A third door looked to be an employee locker room, also empty and unlit and smelling vaguely of bleach.

Satisfied that she had not missed a secret storage room for marble busts, Avery turned to stand before the double doors. There were windows on them, but they were papered over preventing her from peeking through. So she pushed them open, trying to slip in as quietly as possible only to fail miserably because that damned oversized newsprint pad got caught on the door frame. Forward motion pulled it loose, resulting in one of the bungee cords she had been using to secure it to snap free and smack her sharply in the elbow. Reflexively grabbing her arm, Avery started to twist around to refasten the bungee cord. Not realizing in doing this that the strap of her backpack had also gotten caught on the door.

Momentum and gravity conspired against her.

She wasn't quite sure how she had managed to land on her back with one leg braced against a pillar and the other splayed over the floor, but was ultimately thankful that her backpack had slipped off in the process. Landing on that would have been unpleasant - there were a multitude of scissors and other sharp objects in there.

There was also a sharp object hovering three inches from her nose, the background sound of paper enthusiastically being shredded, and a dull ache at the back of her skull from where it had struck linoleum. Someone was talking somewhere above her - or multiple someones. It was a tad difficult to actually focus on distinguishing between voices considering the concussion she had undoubtedly just given herself. They were all entirely too loud and angry and - oh fuck someone was shredding her newsprint pad.

The sharp object that had been hovering from her nose lifted away a half second before she bolted upright in a panic, fully intent on bringing down the wrath of the heavens on whoever was messing with her stuff. A wave of dizziness had her vision swimming from the sudden movement, preventing a follow through on that impulse - which was probably for the best. A spindly limbed green thing was staring right at her, it's mouth stuffed full of charcoal and newsprint shreds.

There was a mustache drawn on its face in permanent marker.

"What the fuck."

This was not a question.

It was a declarative statement that ended up being practically shouted upon the realization that that was, in fact, her midterm it was chewing on. However, it was only after those words had left her mouth when she realized that the angry voices had stopped and it was now way too quiet.

Against her better judgement, she looked up.

At first, it just seemed like she was being stared at disapprovingly by a pair of rather stern looking adultier adults - a not unusual occurrence. Except there was also a giant hulking gargoyle-esque thing standing behind them that was definitely animate and not some kind of strange statue. It was glaring and also it had a sword in one hand that looked suspiciously like the sharp object that had been in front of her nose a short moment ago.

The sound of shredding paper resumed.

"You, my dear, are in a world of trouble."

This was said one of the adultier adults - he looked like the kind of guy typecast as a stuffy English professor in a college romcom. He also looked highly smug about this statement, like it was the most clever thing to say in the world. He did, however, hold out a hand as if to help her up. For a moment Avery was indecisive as to whether to actually accept it, mainly because she was trying to decide if it was just the weird dim lighting that had made his eyes glow ever so briefly.

In the end, she took that hand and got herself pulled to her feet.

The giant hulking gargoyle-esque thing was still standing there, glowering. The green mongrel with the skinny legs had finished eating the newsprint and was now gnawing on the cardboard backing the paper had been attached to. She stared at it, completely ignoring the next couple of sentences the college professorial looking one was saying in favor of a daydream involving midterm portfolio review.

"...and - are you even listening?"

"No."

There was an exasperated sounding sigh.

"You are showing a remarkable disregard for your life right now, young lady."

"A gremlin just ate my midterm," Avery stated, waving a hand at the offending creature currently sniffing at her backpack. "I'm dead on that basis alone."

"Actually, it's a goblin."

"Good for it."

An impatient sounding snort rang out from the general direction of the towering mass of deadly, once again confirming that this was either real or an incredibly vivid hallucination. The latter of which was unlikely - she hadn't taken anything that could cause her to see anything even remotely close to this. Besides, her hallucinations were usually auditory in nature and involved a full scale orchestra.

"Look, we have a conundrum," the professor looking guy informed her, tone one of barely restrained annoyance. "You have wandered into something, a culmination of efforts centuries in the making that you could never hope to understand, and one we can not risk being exposed just yet. Are you following so far?"

"If I say no, can we skip the lecture and go straight to the imminent death thing because I really don't want to deal with the whole not being able to turn in my midterm."

"Fine by me," growled the large and menacing one, glower turning into something that was probably a smirk. "I'd like another snack."

"We can not have another missing person report on premises!" snapped the second adultier adult - a woman that Avery vaguely recognized as being the museum's curator. She did not look very happy. She also seemed to have a penchant for overly bright clothes in a shade just shy of magenta. "The police were too suspicious the last time. She's already seen far too much to let her leave without guarantee of silence. My idea solves this by ensuring we have a way to keep track of her."

"It does not solve anything save for your hiring problems."

"I wouldn't have a hiring problem if someone here hadn't gotten my last security guard eaten!"

"Are you two married?" Avery asked, which earned her some rather askance looks from the two of them. She ignored those expressions in favor of pressing her luck. "Just, you're arguing like it - but was that a job offer I heard in there because if so I rescind my earlier death wish."

The curator lady flashed a triumphant smirk at her counterpart, eyes very briefly glowing green. Apparently, that hadn't been a trick of the light.

"Why yes, we have a recent vacancy in security."

"I'm betting it pays better than the Taco Shack."

"We're letting you live," stated tall, dark, and growly. "That should be payment enough."

"Yeah, but I have rent and tuition and all those pesky bills that come with being an adult of the human species," Avery pointed out, hands waving vaguely through the air. "Sometimes, I even buy myself food."

"It's fourteen dollars an hour."

"Fucking sold."


	2. Deal or No Deal

“If I’d known there’d be this much paperwork, I would have chosen option death.”

“We do have to keep up appearances,” stated the curator – her name was apparently Nomura. Those three syllables had been the only designation supplied before Avery had found herself ushered into an office in another part of the building. Another pamphlet of papers was dropped in front of her on the desk as the previous stack was retrieved and promptly filed away. “But death is always an available option.”

“Is this the last thing I need to sign?”

“Yes.”

Setting pen to paper, Avery went about marking off her signature on the designated pages. Five iterations of her name later, the packet was snatched away and sorted into the cabinet behind the desk, presumably never to be seen again. Maybe a goblin would eat it – there were apparently more than just the one who had made a snack of her midterm.

“Now, there is a uniform. What size shirt do you wear?”

“Medium,” Avery answered, the abrupt normalcy of that question feeling oddly weird all things considered. A stack of three wrapped white dress shirts with the word security embroidered on the right breast was shoved in her direction. “Oh boy, I wonder how long these will stay white.”

“You are rather morbid for a human, you know that.”

“Did you think I was talking about blood? Because there’s at least fifteen other substances that could get on these shirts just from being in my proximity and blood is definitely way further down on the list than number one. It’s like, number five, tops.”

That earned her a very long and silent stare.

“Anyways, I should probably call the Taco Shack and let them know I quit.”

“You do that,” Nomura said with a very slight nod, checking the clock. “You have exactly three hours before your first shift. I suggest you get all of your affairs in order and if you are not back by then-“

“Death?”

“Death.”

 

* * *

 

“You let her _leave_?”

“She’s coming back,” Nomura protested, keeping her voice pitched lower so it wouldn’t carry down the hall. It was, however, perfectly audible from outside the office door where Avery had wandered back to after having spent the past few hours restocking her art supplies. Coming back to an argument was the least weird thing to have occurred that day. “Her first shift is in an hour and we can’t exactly lock her up in here-“

“We have an entire section cordoned off just to keep anyone from finding Bular, of course we could have locked her up!”

“And then what? Another missing person report centered around the museum and this time, there will be a search warrant. You’re always saying we can’t afford exposing ourselves too early, and having to hide this from security is taxing, Stricklander.”

“Wait, your name’s Stricklander?” Avery piped in, peeking through the door at the professorial-looking one. “How did that happen?”

The range of expressions that crossed his face was rather fascinating to watch – surprise to anger to resigned irritation mixed with relief. Nomura just looked smug, once again made right through sheer improbability. After about five seconds, composure was regained in the form of a collar being straightened and a rather disdainful sneer.

“So, you returned.”

“No, I’m just astral projecting.”

This statement looked to have caused some alarm and possibly mild discomfort, at least enough to tell her that astral projecting was totally a real thing that should not be joked about. To demonstrate that she was actually solid and not incorporeal, Avery walked over to the desk and sat down at one of the chairs, dumping her newly restocked bag onto the floor next to her. The metal yardstick strapped to the side was knocked loose by this action and went clattering across the floor. Everyone looked at it, including the goblin sitting on top of the filing cabinet.

“Why did you bring all of that?” Stricklander asked with a disapproving glare cast in her general direction. “What possible use do you think you will get from a yard stick?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“No.”

“Goblins ate my midterm,” Avery pointed out, making a rather dramatic hand gesture towards the creature in question, who was eyeing her newly purchased newsprint pad with interest. “Portfolio review is this Friday and I no longer have anything to turn in and if you eat my supplies again I will end you.”

The last part of that statement was directed at the goblin as it had started to climb down from its perch towards her bag. It stuck out its tongue at her and spat out a few choice syllables that probably meant something rude before scampering back to the top of the file cabinet.

Stricklander glared at Nomura.

“This is your worst idea.”

“We get to continue working without worry of being exposed by security,” Nomura pointed out, smiling despite the insult. “If she wants to draw, let her. So long as we know where she is, there should be no problem.”

“Fine, but if this goes sour you and you alone are the one to be blamed.”

With that declaration and one last disdainful glowy-eyed look cast in Avery’s direction, he strode from the room. Posture-wise, she decided that he’d probably be the kind of guy who wore a cape, if only so as to whip it behind him dramatically while leaving.

“Is his name really Stricklander?”

“You’re one to talk, _Clarissa_ Avery Sawyer.”

“I’ll just not talk then,” Avery said with a grimace. She glanced at the clock, then down at the brand new dress shirt she was currently wearing. It looked way too bright compared to the grungy black jeans and scuffed up tennis shoes that made up the rest of her ensemble. There was already a smudge of charcoal on underneath one of the lower buttons. She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “...I have a few questions.”

“Just a few?”

“Okay, more like four hundred and thirty-five questions.”

“That is a very specific number,” Nomura commented, one eyebrow quirking slightly upwards. “There are certain things I cannot share with you, but I suppose some degree of curiosity is a given under these circumstances.”

“Right, yeah, curiosity. First question, what’s with the lite brite eyes?”

This was obviously not the query that had been expected, but to her credit, Nomura recovered rather quickly. A smirk flashed across the curator’s face that grew bit toothier within the span of three seconds. Suddenly, she was no longer a rather proper looking Asian lady in a dress suit.

“Well, that’s certainly something. You are very pink, did you know that?”

The glare she was given could have cut through steel.

“I am changeling, as is Stricklander,” Nomura explained, voice now far raspier than in her human guise. “This is my true form and yes, I am aware of my own coloration. And before you ask, he is green.”

“What kind of green?”

“That is a line of questioning you’ll wish to pursue with him, provided you don’t mind having your intestines removed.”

“Yeah, I like those where they are,” Avery said, fidgeting in her seat. “So…changelings, goblins…and uh, tall, dark and scary?”

“Bular is a troll. I would refrain from speaking to him unless he talks to you first.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Any more questions?”

There were actually quite a number of additional things that she wanted to ask about. There was a rather insistent part of her brain – the part that had almost driven her into choosing physics as a major before being shouted into silence by power of art – screaming about mass displacement. This part was drowned out, however, by one thing was now very urgently demanding attention, spurred by that morning’s free coffee splurge.

“That employee locker room has a bathroom attached, right?”

 

* * *

 

The employee locker room actually had much more than just a bathroom attached to it. A cursory investigation revealed that the bathroom was kitted out with a shower stall that looked at least five times cleaner than the one Avery was forced to share with three other girls at her dingy on campus dormitory. Even better, there was another attached room that was definitely supposed to be a medical station that had an army cot with a mattress pad on it. She poked at it, delighted to discover that it was actually memory foam. The distant recollection of an actual eight hours of sleep rose up from the ashes, beckoning like a siren.

A grumpy noise from somewhere behind her made broke her out of this reminiscence.

Turning to look, Avery spotted at least ten goblins watching her with what were probably supposed to be calculating stares. She had her backpack slung over her shoulder again, brand new drawing pad strapped in place and yardstick once more secured. The lead goblin had apparently informed its brethren of the deliciousness it had found in her art supply cache.

“Okay,” she said, slowly squatting down to be more on their eye level, focusing on the one with the drawn on mustache. He seemed to be the leader, after all. “This stuff is new and I really need it. But I will give you my pencil stubs, candy wrappers, food receipts, and exclusive access to any and all soda bottles I come across if you leave my homework alone.”

The goblin drew itself up onto two spindly legs, eyes narrowing shrewdly as it regarded her.

“I’ll even buy you a package of the cheap charcoal sticks. Art Rally has a box of fifty going for twenty bucks. Crappy quality for drawing anything but stick figures, but you guys don’t want ‘em for that so…”

“ _Chaga_?”

“Alright, two packages.”

“ _Daga_!”


	3. Chairs

There was apparently a security jacket that went with the security shirt, though the only available size was a large which looked absolutely silly and not at all professional. Avery left it in the security office on the back of one of the chairs. There was a flashlight, keys, and also a basket of nametags sitting on the desk. She counted out fifteen of them, then selected the one labeled as ‘Bernard’ and attached it to her shirt on the opposite side from the embroidery.

The keys, upon closer inspection, were actually labeled. 

Any and all excitement over this discovery was immediately muted by the reminder that very few of the corresponding doors had nameplates. This was definitely a sign of poor management, but as luck would have it there was a map squared away in one of the desk drawers. She examined it closely, only to grumble in frustration at realizing none of the labels actually matched the keys.

“Guess we are doing this the hard way,” she muttered, picking up the flashlight and grabbing a marker from her bag. She’d have to do walk-a-rounds anyways – Nomura had been rather insistent on that. Something about keeping up appearances or whatever. Uncapping the marker, Avery scribbled some quick labels on the rooms she definitely knew of, then folded the map up to tuck into her belt. “Resumption of bad idea number three hundred and nine in progress.”

The empty back halls of the museum were a hell of a lot dimmer with only one or two fluorescents marking the junctions. Flashlight in hand, Avery started towards the far end, ignoring the double doors and rounding the bend in the hallway only to realize that there was actually a rather large open archway leading into that particular room. It was covered in translucent plastic sheeting and she could see vague shapes moving around beyond it. After a few seconds, Avery made the executive decision to ignore this information for now.

She already knew what was in there and was almost a hundred percent certain that not a one of them was going to help with operation midterm redo.

Moving on and with a very brief re-examination of the map, she found the first of three doors that logically should lead to somewhere storage-like. The first of the doors required unlocking to be able to peek inside, which in turn required her best guess as to which key would work. After five tries she managed to find the right one, opening it up and grinning upon discovering that this was exactly the room she had been wanting to find. Grabbing the map out, she took a moment to label it before heading inside.

Shelves and storage crates lined the walls, but the middle table had the missing busts just sitting there. Granted, the lighting in here was a hell of a lot different than the main area of the museum where they’d been displayed but that wouldn’t be a problem since circumstances dictated that she had to start over from scratch. There was plenty of space to set up and sketch, but absolutely no chairs anywhere to be seen.

“Okay, time for bad idea number three hundred and ten.”

She headed back out, returning past the plastic covered archway and heading straight towards the employee break room. The floor here was the same black linoleum, but the walls at least weren’t blank. There was a motivational poster with a cat on it hanging over the microwave and a number of faded workplace procedure guidelines taped to the far right wall. There was also a refrigerator that probably used to be entirely white but was sporting a suspiciously large discolored section on the door. A table was shoved against one wall with some chairs stacked next to it. Avery selected two of them, hefting them up with some effort.

“Oh fun,” she mumbled, adjusting her grip a bit and then remembering that she also needed to grab her bag and lug that back with her as well. “A-plus planning there, Avery.”

Maneuvering the chairs out into the hallway, she set them down next to the locker room door while she headed inside. The goblins had vanished, presumably helping with whatever was in the big room. They had thankfully left her bag alone – apparently her charcoal offer had been too good a deal to risk screwing up. Glad for that, she grabbed up her bag and slung it over one shoulder before heading back out the door.

Hefting up the chairs again, she made it ten feet before her bag started slipping off one shoulder. Setting the chairs down, she took a moment to adjust the straps on her backpack tighter and check to make sure all of the bungee cords holding the newsprint pad in place were secure. Then she grabbed up the chairs once more and made her way forward. Avery had just reached the bend in the hallway when the yardstick decided it wanted to be free and flung itself to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Really?”

Placing the chairs down for a third time, she bent down to pick up the yardstick. This movement caused one of the bungee cords to loosen slightly, which in turn allowed gravity to pull the newsprint pad downwards. It slipped out and went sliding across the linoleum.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Slinging her bag off, she set it down on the chairs and went to collect the newsprint pad from where it had slid. A few of the pages had come loose, but that was nothing new – the binding on them was always shoddy quality. She turned back and regarded the chairs for a moment, frowning in thought. An idea arrived and went into immediate implementation. Rearranging the bungee cords, she now strapped her bag and the newsprint pad to the chairs themselves, thus solving the problem.

Or so she thought.

Upon picking up the chairs again another dilemma made itself abundantly clear - the newsprint pad was blocking her view. For about five seconds she stood there, both mentally berating herself for not foreseeing the problem with arranging her bag in such a manner and also silently screaming about how difficult she had made this supposedly simple task when the solution was so damn obvious. Plunking the chairs down, she grabbed the back of the bottom one and just started dragging it behind her down the corridor.

The result was forward progress accompanied by the sound of rubber being slowly dragged across a smooth surface. She made it two-thirds of the way past the archway before the plastic was flung dramatically aside.

“What is that ghastly noise!?”

Avery stopped, turning her head to find what was probably Stricklander glaring at her – the nose was pretty much the same shape, anyways. He was definitely green and also wearing a cape, which some small part of her was very glad to have predicted. He looked highly annoyed.

“What are you doing?”

She glanced down at the chairs and her bag still strapped to them, then back up at him. Without breaking eye contact, she adjusted her hold on the chair back and returned to the task of dragging them along. The sound resumed and that look of irritation grew into something more akin to indignant anger. She had just reached the storage room door when the giant skulking gargoyle-esque hulk that was Bular stomped out to see just what was going on.

He squinted down the hall at her suspiciously.

Still gripping the chairs, Avery kicked the storage room door open with one foot and slowly backed out of sight, pulling the chairs in behind her. The door swung shut with snap that had to have echoed in the empty hall outside. There was a few seconds of silence, and then a booming laugh that probably belonged to someone eleven feet tall and one point five tons in weight – a guesstimate, really.

It was a small victory.


	4. Bribery

There were five recycling bins in the art building on campus and three in the dingy old dormitory that Avery occasionally passed out in. She spent the free hour she had between her Tuesday morning art history lecture and the afternoon studio class emptying the bins into a cardboard box pilfered from the nearest grocery store. In any other building on campus this might have been cause for concern. But time and experience had trained the janitors and maintenance crew against asking after whatever crazy thing the art students were doing now.

A few things Avery had learned that very morning was that – in addition to the Queen of All Things Magenta – there were at least two other people who worked at the museum. There was a day shift guard named Ted, who looked vaguely like a combination of every dad from every sitcom that had been airing two decades previous. And there was a janitor named Paul, who was probably either the oldest living human or the oldest living sentient raisin. They both arrived promptly at seven in the morning, just after she had finished dragging the chairs back to the break room.

Nomura had not forewarned her of this.

Ted would probably forgive her for whacking him in the face with the yardstick on impulse. He seemed to be the forgiving kind of type. That is, he’d waved off her apologies and explanations in favor of plopping down in the security office to read the newspaper. Paul just ignored everything in favor of going straight to the maintenance closet and complaining about the lack of cleaning supplies. Neither of them seemed to care much about the circumstances of her hiring – not that she tried very hard to explain.

If they didn’t give a shit, then she didn’t give a shit.

She had then booked it out to her truck, downed an energy drink and took off for the university. A brief stop at the campus coffee shop ensured that she stayed awake during the lecture – they were just now starting in on Proto-Renaissance Art. Everything blurred together and her notes looked like they had been written by someone at the epicenter of a very large earthquake, but she had managed to stay awake this time which was an achievement.

So now, with a cardboard box full of empty soda bottles and two hours of sleep stolen after her afternoon studio class had ended, she headed back to the museum. The second white dress shirt had only been worn for thirty minutes before accumulating at least two paint stains – a tube of blue had exploded in the bed of her truck. She didn’t realize it until after she had pulled out her bag and the bottle box.

“Well, that’s just dandy,” she muttered, kicking the tailgate back into place. “What gets out blue paint? Oh, right – nothing.”

Carrying the box inside, she made her way down the employee hallway passing by an open office where Nomura was seated going through what looked to be a pile of paperwork. Avery did not stop, but just kept on going to the employee locker room. She did, however, notice the stomping heel steps that followed after her. The locker room door swung open as she set down the box on the floor.

“What is that?”

“It’s a box.”

“You know what I meant,” Nomura snapped, looking agitated. “What’s in the box?”

“Bribery.”

This earned her a five second stare that was alternate parts confusion and suspicion. With a sigh, Avery flipped open the lid revealing the varying bottles and soda cans she’d scrounged. As if on cue, a goblin dropped from the ceiling vent into the box, scattering it and the contents across the floor. A single empty water bottle bounced and rolled to tap against Nomura’s foot.

She did not look amused.

“You do realize that they won’t take orders from the likes of _you_.”

“Look, I just don’t want them eating my homework again,” Avery told her, yanking open one of the lockers and shoving a few things inside. “If that means bringing them trash to munch on instead, I will dig through every dumpster.”

“ _Chaga_!”

“Yeah, yeah, I did not forget about the charcoal sticks. I already penciled it into my budget, Chicken Legs.”

“ _Waza_.”

“Chicken legs?” Nomura asked, briefly pinching the bridge of her nose as if to stave off a headache. She then sighed deeply and  steepled her hands together. “Don’t give them nicknames.”

“Sure thing, Madame Magenta.”

“Don’t give me nicknames either.”

“Well, there goes the joy from the rest of my existence, however short that may be.”

Avery slammed the locker shut and began pinning a new name badge to her shirt. This one declared her to be ‘Terrence’ for the evening. It looked like it may have been gnawed on at one point by something or someone with very large teeth, tangible evidence that a decidedly unpleasant thing had happened to its previous owner. She then plucked her jacket off the hooks on the wall next to the lockers, glancing it over for a second before looking back at Nomura.

“Hey, doesn’t this ensemble come with a hat?” she asked, sliding on the jacket one arm at a time. The sleeves were slightly too long, so she proceeded to roll them up a bit. The end effect looked rather ridiculous. “Pretty sure Ted had a hat.”

“I’m not ordering you a hat.”


	5. Freezer Burn

It was close to two in the morning and lamentably the pot of coffee that Avery had brewed at the start of her shift was now empty. This meant waiting for a new one, which was tantamount to torture. The provided machine was at least a decade old, had only three buttons, and operated at a pace that could only be described as ‘glacial’.

To distract herself and kill for time, she had decided to clean out the refrigerator. This had attracted the attention of the goblins, who were watching intently from various perches within the break room. She attributed this to the disgusting looking Tupperware containers and moldy fast food bags excavated from within – as soon as they got tossed in the trash, they were snatched up and devoured.

“You guys have some weird dietary habits,” she informed them, lobbing what had probably once been a container of apple slices into the air. It was immediately snatched up by the leader of the troupe, whom she had decided was going to be called Frogger no matter what Nomura’s opinion on nicknaming them was. “But eh, I live off caffeine and pop-tarts, who am I to judge?”

“ _Wazaga_!”

 Chuckling, Avery glanced at the open refrigerator and the now emptied out shelves. There were a number of unidentifiable stains marring the interior. Luckily enough, she had paper towels and a variety of cleaning products pilfered from the maintenance closet. She also had a painter’s mask and gloves from her own personal supply of stuff – bought for spray paint related purposes. Pulling them on, she grabbed up one of the cleaning sprays and a wad of paper towels before getting to work.

An hour and much cursing later, she had finished scrubbing the bottom drawers clean. The goblins had stuck around, munching on the paper towels as they were used up. She wondered briefly if there was anything they wouldn’t eat – probably not.

The coffee pot had filled itself only a quarter of the way up.

Avery glared at it, slowly counting upwards in her head – she reached twenty-three before the urge to throw something subsided. Taking in a deep breath, she shoved the refrigerator drawers back into place and shut the door. The large discolored blotch on the outside was still there. Upon closer inspection there was also a slightly discolored blotch on the floor in front of the fridge as well – it was just slightly more difficult to make out due to the color of the linoleum.

The slow dripping gurgle of the coffee machine was suddenly joined by what sounded distinctly like metal scraping against something stone-like. Out the corner of her eye, she noticed the goblins retreating from their perches back into the shadows. Slowly, Avery reached up and pulled down the painter mask from her face before turning to see just what had spooked them.

The over-sized chunk of terror that was Bular sat in the hall just outside the break room, slowly and methodically sharpening one of his swords against his left forearm.

“You’re not where you were yesterday.”

It took a second for this statement to process, mainly because Avery was battling an internal crisis over whether this display was just plain menacing or something approaching coal furnace levels of hot. The mental judgement scale was reading directly even on both counts.

“Coffee,” she responded abruptly, pausing a moment before waving a hand in the direction of the uncooperative brewing machine. “I ran out of coffee. So, I’m making more.”

He snorted as if disbelieving her, but she saw his gaze flick briefly to the now one-third full coffee pot.

“It’s being very slow.”

That comment garnered no response, resulting in about a half minute of near silence in which the only sound was the coffee pot. Somewhat assured by the lack of death happening at the moment, Avery decided to go back to what she had originally been doing and turned her attention to the freezer. She opened it up to discover that someone had turned the temperature knob to the lowest setting. There was a half full bucket of ice cream, a box of fish sticks, and a goblin stuffed inside – all encased in ice.

She shut the door again and stripped off the gloves, setting them down on the table. A quick glance at the clock revealed that there were at least three hours left on shift, which could either be utilized to work on homework or to defrost a member of the horde. The coffee pot still wasn’t full, which pretty much made the decision for her.

“Where are you going?”

“To find a chisel and a hair drier.”

 

* * *

 

“This is ridiculous, it’s _just_ a goblin.”

“I’d prefer to be on good terms with them as a whole,” Avery said, holding the hair dried steady. She had managed to pry the block of ice out from the freezer, and had set up a bucket and some paper towels on the table to catch any spillage from the slowly thawing creature. “Otherwise they might eat my homework again.”

“You’re afraid of _them_?”

“I’m afraid of anything that can eat five pounds of polymer clay and not die from it.”

Another snort, this one sounded equal parts offended and dismissive. Avery glanced over her shoulder where Bular was currently sitting just shy of the doorway, arms folded over his chest. He was scowling, which at this point was probably his default expression though it did have a sort of indignant quality to it.

“Are you…pouting?”

The half second of surprise at being caught out was almost well worth the bared teeth and the warning growl that followed.

“I do not pout.”

“Sure you don’t.”

Any and all questions about whether or not the break room door was too small for Bular to fit through were answered as he abruptly jumped up and ducked inside. The movement had actually been far quicker than anything Avery could have anticipated, especially considering his size. Suddenly, she knew exactly what that stain on the refrigerator was.

“Let me just remind you, _human_ ,” he snarled, hunched over and teeth bared right in her face. “That it’s not the goblins or the changelings you ultimately have to worry about.”

 “Okay, you can kill me, point made,” Avery responded before any brain to mouth filter could be implemented. “Counterpoint – so can about five million other things, including stuff a lot less interesting than you. _Sorry_.”

She had completely expected that to piss him off even more – he’d seemed to be the type where any kind of retort might be seen as an affront. Instead, he huffed and sat back, still glaring at her in an irritated fashion though now it was mixed with something like speculation.

“If there’s five million other things that can kill you, how is it you’re still alive?”

“Honestly? Not a fucking clue.”

There was silence, during which the last few chunks of ice gave way and a very cold goblin collapsed onto the table. Teeth chattering, it started mopping up the water still clinging to it with the paper towels Avery had set out on the table. Once dry, it began eating the paper towels, apparently unfazed by the fact that mere moments ago it had been a literal popsicle. Job done, Avery shut off the hair drier and yanked the plug from the wall. She started wrapping the cord up around it, glancing up at the clock to make sure there was time to clean up.

It was at that exact moment that the coffee pot beeped.

“TWO HOURS!” Avery shouted, the sudden volume startling the goblin off the table and managing to make even Bular look mildly alarmed. She ignored both of them, stomping around the latter to inspect the coffee machine. “Two hours for a pot of coffee!”

“What is this _coffee?_ ”

“Coffee is a beverage made from filtering water through crushed beans, that is best served five degrees shy of boiling hot with no additives like sugar or cream because those are the crutches of the weak.”

As she said this, Avery had poured half the pot into her portable mug which was now giving out a healthy amount of steam. Once full, she screwed on the cap with one hand while fumbling with one of the cabinets to see if there was another mug. Much to her annoyance, there was not. With a shrug and no sense of preservation, she took a swig directly from the coffee pot. It was bitter and burned her tongue, but thus was the nature of coffee.

Satisfied that she had managed to replenish her supply of caffeine for the time being, Avery turned back to look at Bular who was watching her with a contemplative frown, as if trying to decide just what to do about her continued existence. She took another swig of coffee and watched him back, leaning against the counter.

“So…what happened to your wrist?”

The question seemed to surprise him, as he glanced at his right arm around which was wrapped a thick strip of leather. At least, she assumed it was leather – it looked like leather, though what kind she preferred not to even think about. The surface of his arm and hand just outside the edges of the wrap was slightly discolored.

“What does it matter to you, _human_?”

“I don’t know, just trying to find a topic of conversation,” Avery said with a shrug and another gulp of coffee. It was starting to cool down a bit, so she set the pot back down on the burner. “But I guess I was wrong and you’re not actually bored enough for chitchat. In which case, I’m gonna take my coffee and go back to working on drawing.”

She picked up the portable mug, making a show of taking the time to check over the lid to make sure it was secure before turning for the door. She was a half step away from the frame when she heard him make a grumbly sounding noise.

“Why is your hair that obscenely bright color?”

Stopping, Avery turned back and tilted her head. A strand of pale turquoise flopped down to obscure her vision. She flicked it away with a thoughtful expression, noting that the dye was actually starting to fade a bit.

“I had extra money and a coupon for that brand of dye.”

“It is dyed?” Bular asked, head tilting to the side. “Not a natural color?”

“Yeah, humans don’t come in teal.”

Avery leaned back against the wall next to the door frame, clicking open her mug and taking a sip of coffee. The caffeine from her earlier swigs was starting to kick in.

“Why?”

“Why what? The dye?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know,” she responded, idly tapping the fingers of one hand against the wall. This wasn’t a line of questioning she had expected. “I guess there were a lot of things I wanted to change at the time and my hair was the only one I had any control over.”

It looked like he’d been expecting a flippant response on par with her earlier irreverent attitude and remarks, rather than a serious answer. His expression had gone thoughtful, though no less frownier than it had been earlier. Avery glanced at the floor, wondering if maybe an honest answer had not been the way to go.

“It’s sun-stained.”

She glanced back up, confused.

“My wrist,” Bular clarified, gesturing with the wrapped limb. “A brush against daylight.”

It took a second for this information to actually process and the requisite connections to be made. The coffee was definitely kicking in full steam if it was making it difficult to keep focus on point number one without jumping the train directly to point number seven.

“Okay, let me see if I’ve got this right,” she said after a moment. “Daylight actually hurts you. Like physical and immediate contact burning kind of hurt?

“Yes.”

“And you’re living in a building with floor to ceiling windows?”


	6. Tea Versus Cherry Cola

Against all odds, Friday morning arrived without anything of much interest happening. For two days straight, Avery had been alone in the museum at night with only two goblins for company. One of them was the one she had freed from the freezer, who had apparently decided that following her around was a worthwhile pursuit. She had dubbed him Freezer Burn due to the discoloration that being stuck inside a block of ice had caused his ears.

He did not seem to mind.

The other one was Spearmint Gumbo, whom she had found peeling wads of chewed gum out from under the railings of the public staircase at around ten-thirty on Wednesday evening. She had been pretending to be a normal security guard for once, walking around and shining her flashlight in various corners about trying to remember the name of that one movie where all the exhibits came to life at night.

Because her situation was so similar, right?

And then there was that particular goblin, upside down and slurping up gum like a cat with catnip. She had decided against commenting on this occurrence in favor of heading off towards the break room. She’d needed to refill her coffee mug anyways. She had planned ahead, having set the coffee pot to brew earlier – with an estimated two hour brew time, starting it up early was the only way to ensure a constant supply of caffeine.

So it was with her midterm project in tow that Avery arrived on campus, fully caffeinated and not quite mentally prepared for the nervous breakdown that inevitably came with waiting for said project to be graded. She entered the art building to drop it off at the designated spot in the studio, checking the instructions on how and when to find out her grade three times before leaving. Her backpack significantly lighter, she decided that the best way to avoid thinking about how the remainder of her academic career hinged on whether or not the instructor liked the way she did contour was probably to just take a nap in the middle of a busy highway.

However, as the highway was currently several miles away and she didn’t want to lose her parking space, she opted for the second best thing – checking her mail. This turned out to be a good decision, as nestled between coupon pamphlets and fliers for clubs she had no intention of ever joining was an envelope from financial aid. Contained within was a statement detailing the full amount minus subsequent deductions for tuition and lab fees and housing and parking permits. At the bottom of said statement was a check for the remainder – a whole one hundred dollars and three cents.

“Heck yeah, time for an actual meal,” she declared to no one in particular, scooping the coupon pamphlets up and tossing the club fliers into a nearby trash bin. A cursory glance through the coupons provided revealed that a nearby pizza place was advertising a large one topping pizza for exactly five dollars. “Thank you whatever powers that be for this, the best of blessings.”

With a plan in mind, Avery headed off across campus towards the bank to cash in on her newfound riches. Mood elevated, she almost didn’t mind the fact that there was a line. Except that the person ahead of her took forever and there was only one teller despite there being five windows. By the time she actually got the check cashed she had imagined five separate alibis for her eventual murderous rampage. Thankfully, the pizza place was nearby and had not been hit by the lunch crowd yet, so she was able to get her order in record time.

“Okay, food obtained with an hour left before we know whether or not the end is nigh.”

Glancing around, Avery spotted an empty outdoor table to sit at in order to shovel as much pizza into her mouth as she could stomach. She plopped down and propped open the box, breathing in what was decidedly the best smell in the universe – greasy cheese. Three slices later, she slammed the box shut and sat back only to spew a number of choice curse words upon spotting just who had decided to sit down across from her while she was distracted by food.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Joke’s on you asshole, my mom’s dead,” Avery retorted, fishing out a napkin to wipe up a glob of tomato sauce that had wound up on her shirt. The unamused professorial-like stare cast in her direction while doing this was enough to set her on edge. Something was wrong or at least, something was very not right. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Arcadia Oaks High School has a number of placement programs with the university,” supplied Stricklander, taking a sip of tea from a mug that he most certainly had to have brought himself. None of the tea places on campus offered anything ceramic or glass-wise due to face breakability concerns. “My senior class is currently on an orientation tour.”

“You’re actually a teacher?”

“Yes.”

“That explains so much.”

This comment didn’t seem to go over very well, as his eyes narrowed into a glare equal parts annoyance and disgust. The mug of tea was carefully set down directly center in front of him, hands folding over each other as he assumed the posture of someone about to give a very stern lecture. Avery held up a hand – the universal sign of wait just one moment.

“What-“

“Hold that thought for like thirty seconds.”

She jumped up, pulling a handful of change out of her pocket and darting to the soda machine in the corner. Plugging in quarters, she punched the button for the cherry cola. It took exactly fifteen seconds for it to drop out and return her change. She grabbed the can and the remaining three nickels before dashing back to the table. Popping the tab, she raised it up in mock salute before taking a sip.

“Alright, go ahead.”

“You know, I do believe that I’m going to thoroughly enjoy the day when we no longer need your presence as a mask,” Stricklander informed her, tone having taken on a dark edge. “Perhaps I’ll even kill you myself.”

“Hey, cheer up. You might not even have to exert the effort!”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“In about fifteen minutes, my midterm portfolio grade gets posted,” Avery said, flipping her phone screen on slight frown - five messages dropped into the trash bin with a swipe of her thumb. “Okay, thirteen minutes actually but as far as time guesstimates go, I was close. Point is, I get to find out whether or not I passed.”

“I fail to see the relevance your grades have to do with anything.”

Sighing because she really had thought that she’d been perfectly clear with that particular hint, Avery chugged the rest of the soda before slamming the empty can down on the table. It looked like she was going to actually have to spell it out piece by piece.

“If I fail the midterm, I fail the course. If I fail the course, I lose financial aid. If I lose financial aid, I have to move back to the hellhole I grew up in. If I have to move back to the hellhole I grew up in, I will have to live with either my shitbag uncle or my shitbag ex.”

A different frown had appeared on that professorial face, one that despite its owner’s best efforts betrayed an emotion other than irritation for her continued existence. One might even have called it a worried expression – Avery ignored it in favor of tucking the now empty soda can away into a used grocery bag full of similar.  

“Honestly, I’d rather jump off of a highway overpass into rush hour traffic than do either.”

“I see,” Stricklander said slowly, carefully avoiding looking in her direction as he picked up his mug and took a sip of tea. “And if you do pass?”

“I don’t know, I actually did not plan for that. Continue on until the next exam turns me into a compressed ball of stress and anxiety again, I guess.”

“Well, if things go according to plan you won’t actually have to worry about final exams.”

“Oh good,” Avery said, checking the time again – ten more minutes of agony. “I’m listening.

“An associate of ours is arriving this evening with a vital component to our efforts. It would be wise of you to avoid the central chamber entirely, though I suppose if you fail your midterm it won’t matter either way.”

She stared at him, digesting this information alongside the pizza – the latter process of which was going much slower. It dawned at that moment that she’d been right about the something being not quite correct about this entire situation. Maybe it was just her own nerves projecting themselves outwards, but Stricklander definitely looked like someone trying to hide his own anxiety.

“Okay.”

“That’s it, just okay?”

“I get it, vital point of evil plan of doom is happening,” Avery said with a shrug. “I’m guessing overall it’s an end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it type plan, unleashing unspeakable evil or whatnot to destroy humanity, else you wouldn’t be saying I don’t have to worry about finals.”

“You are technically correct in that guess, although I’m a little concerned over your lack of concern.”

“Look, I’m not going to fuck up your evil plan of doom, happy?”

“Ecstatic.”


	7. Dye Job

Avery had checked the slip of paper she’d been handed five times to ensure she was not, in fact, hallucinating her grade listing. Right there next to her name was the capital letter ‘B’ with a tiny minus sign next to it. There were also some very illegible notes concerning line variation, but none of that mattered over the fact that she had actually passed.

She checked the paper again, just to be certain.

Yep, that mark was still there and definitely still etched out in that reddish-purple pen her drawing instructor liked to gnaw on during class. Thinking about that put her off the idea of celebrating by eating more pizza. Instead, she decided to head out to the nearest grocery store and spend the rest of her money on something other than pop tarts.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to go very far – there was actually a supermarket two blocks away from campus that was the lifeblood of pretty much every student there. She strolled in, grabbed a basket and headed directly towards the cereal aisle. After five minutes of deliberation, she did the smart thing and grabbed a giant bag of the generic brand cereal labelled crispy hexagons, dropping it into the basket before moving on.

One package of ramen noodles were added on top, along with a box of instant mashed potatoes and some soup crackers. After a little consideration and the realization that she now had extra cold storage – what with the now cleaned out refrigerator at the museum – she grabbed a package of eggs, some butter, and cheese. Some quick calculations after these additions compelled her to grab the store brand bag of bacon bits as well.

Satisfied that she had acquired the necessary food for continued existence, Avery headed down a different aisle to stop in front of the hair care products. The teal was fading and needed to be replaced. Generally, she would have made a trek to an actual hair care supply store but as luck would have it, the supermarket actually had exactly what she was looking for. She tossed the boxes in with the rest of her haul and headed up front only to be distracted by one of the displays.

“Well, that is convincing.”

Basket gripped in one hand, she used the other to pick up a case from the display before continuing on up to the registers. The cashier looked extremely bored and uninterested as he scanned her items, not that she tried to remedy this. There was exactly three dollars left over from her shopping spree, which went stuffed into her pocket as she trekked back to the campus parking garage where her truck was currently parked.

Keys out, she unlocked the tailgate, ready to load the non-cold stuff into the back. This plan was forestalled by the sight of five goblins camping in the back of the truck – they stared at her.

“ _Kawaga_?”

Taking a deep breath, she detached the plastic bag full of soda cans from her backpack and tossed it to them. A feeding frenzy ensued, though she didn’t exactly stick around to watch. Slamming the tailgate shut, she walked her groceries up to the passenger side door and stacked them on top of the pizza box. Rounding back to the driver’s side, she climbed in and took a brief moment to check her phone – nineteen messages went into the digital trash can. Picking up the charger for her phone, she plugged it in and keyed the ignition. Glancing over her shoulder through the back window at the goblins, Avery flashed a grin.

“Buckle up, boys. We’re going plaid.”

 

* * *

 

Whatever was going on in the center room involved strange glowing shit which Avery decided was best left alone, at least for the time being. It would probably ruin the absurdly good mood she was currently in, anyways. She patted the slip of paper in her pocket to remind herself that yes, it was still there.

Freezer Burn followed her into the locker room and immediately dove into the trash can by the door, only to peek back out with a sad expression upon finding it had been recently changed out. Feeling a little bad about that, she dug into one of her backpack pockets and found a pencil stub to toss his way. He jumped up, caught it in his mouth and then promptly fell back into the trash can out of sight.

Heading into the bathroom portion of the locker room, Avery set her phone in the counter along with a singular plastic bag containing two boxes. Pulling out the first box, she turned it over to skim the instructions despite knowing exactly what to do through prior experience. There was always the chance things might get shook up a bit – but alas, no. The box of color stripper still stated the same thing it always did.

Ripping open the box, she started to pull out the bottles and accompanying gloves before pausing to consider her shirt. It was the first dress shirt, mildly grubby from charcoal but still cleaner than most things she owned. After a bit of deliberation, she unbuttoned it and tossed it to the side, keeping on only the sports bra that had been underneath.

“Right,” she muttered, opening up the bottles and preparing to mix them up. The smell was horrendous, but that was to be expected of color stripper. Donning the gloves, she picked up her comb and looked into the mirror above the sink. “Goodbye teal, I knew thee well.”

“ _Razaga_?”

“Yes, you can have the gloves when I’m done.”

“ _Taga_!”

 

* * *

 

The locker room sink now had the appearance of a murder scene, one that Avery definitely planned to clean up just as soon as she was done drying her hair. Unfortunately, having used her only hair drier to defrost a goblin earlier that week must have overworked the heating coil, because it kept sputtering between spurts of hot air and room temperature. There was probably a very high chance of it catching on fire, but at this point she was almost done.

“Alright, fuck it, dry enough,” she grumbled after a few more seconds, clicking it off and setting it aside. It slid off the side of the counter and fell to the floor with a clattering noise. She looked down, staring at it for what was probably an inordinate amount of time. A piece of the outer casing had snapped off and was only somewhat connected to it through the power cord. “Well, guess that solves that.”

She turned back to the sink, raising up her brush and glancing at herself in the mirror. Her now virulently red hair was still a little damp as she ran the brush through it and gave her reflection a scrutinizing frown. A slight movement in the corner of the mirror caught her attention – the subsequent internal battle over how to react would have been catastrophically damaging had it taken place anywhere outside of her own head.

“So…the clandestine meeting of doom is over with, I take it?”

“For now.”

Avery nodded at this, turning back to the sink to regard the damage. The packaging and leftover dye was easy to get rid of – Freezer Burn was still lurking in the trash can. She collected up the boxes and bottles, shuffling past where Bular sat leaning against the lockers. The goblin grinned up at her like it had just received the best gift in the entire universe before proceeding to shovel the dye stained plastic gloves into its mouth.

“You’re strange.”

“You don’t know many humans, do you?”

“No,” he huffed, arms folding over his chest. “I do not.”

“How many?”

“What?”

“How many humans have you actually spoken to?” Avery repeated, heading back towards the sink. It was the stains there that would take actual effort to clean up, a task she was not exactly looking forward to but not doing it would probably net complaints from the walking example of live mummification that was Paul the janitor. She glanced back at Bular, who was watching her with what was probably a troubled expression. “…well?”

“Two.”

“Not a very big sample size, then.”

He snorted, glancing away in what was probably supposed to be annoyance. Except, he didn’t seem as grumpy as he had been the first few days that week – at least, she interpreted the lack of threat display to mean that he wasn’t as grumpy. The lighting in here wasn’t as dim as in the halls or the break room since most of the fluorescents actually worked. So she had a good opportunity to steal a few technical observations about his appearance besides the general adjectives.

“What are you staring at?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head and reaching for the paper towels. “Just wishing I hadn’t left my sketchbook in my truck because damn, those are nice contours and I just said that out loud…”

Avery could feel his eyes on her as she turned her attention to scrubbing dye stains. It took an incredible amount of careful gaze aversion to avoid looking in the mirror, because she was fairly certain if she did the conversation would continue down an avenue from which there would either be perpetual embarrassment or death. The latter of which would be death from perpetual embarrassment which was, of course, the worst kind.

This tactic of ignoring the topic actually succeeded for once. After five minutes of scrubbing up globs of hair dye, she heard him shuffling out of the locker room. An additional five minutes of waiting and Avery glanced up, looking around to ensure that she was actually alone again. She glanced at the mirror, shaking her head at herself.

“Damn girl, you’re fucked in the head.”


	8. Night Out of Town

Avery walked into the break room fully intent on chugging the entire pot of coffee she had set to brew earlier. This plan was foiled by the presence of a man in a tan overcoat and matching hat who was in the process of pouring himself a mug. Such was the gravity of this offense that she could not immediately muster an appropriate response.

“Oh, hello,” the man said, setting the coffee pot down. His tone was amiable albeit mildly nervous sounding – blind to the crime he had just committed. “I did not see you zhere.”

Without a word, she stomped over to him and plucked the coffee mug from his hands before he could even take a sip. This was met with an expression of mild alarm that transformed into something akin to shock and terror as she deliberately downed the entire thing. Giving him an annoyed look, she handed the mug back before grabbing the coffee pot itself and marching back out.

She passed Stricklander, who cast a brief quizzical glance at her as she went thundering down the hall back to the locker room. Or at least, attempted to thunder – the combination of linoleum and flat soled tennis shoes wasn’t exactly very good for such an expression of rage. She did, however, manage to slam the locker room door open and shut again, which probably conveyed her feelings concerning coffee thievery much more effectively.

Coffee pot still in hand, Avery proceeded to open her locker and pull out one of the spare shirts she had stashed there. It was then that she realized that she was, in fact, still only wearing her sports bra for a top. She looked at the ceiling, taking in as deep a breath as possible.

“Okay, I’ve embarrassed myself enough now, so this would be a great time for the crazy coma dream to come to an end.”

The universe responded with silence.

“Figures,” she muttered, taking a gulp of coffee before setting the pot down on the ledge in her locker. She pulled on her shirt, which sported paint stains much like the rest of her wardrobe. She then pulled out her phone to check the time – only to find ten more messages to delete. “For fuck’s sake, take a hint asshole.”

“You changed your hair.”

Avery glanced up to see Nomura, leaning through the door frame looking caught halfway between mild concern and amusement. How the woman managed to find a dress suit in that shade of bright pink and keep it from fading with every wash was a miracle.

“Yep. Good eye there, it’s a hard thing to spot.”

Any concern that had been on the woman’s face immediately disappeared as her eyes narrowed, flashing briefly and brilliantly green.

“It may do you good to be a little less antagonistic,” she hissed, standing up straighter possibly in an attempt to be intimidating. This failed somewhat, as Avery was slightly taller than her human form. “You might live longer.”

“There we go with the death threats again, acting like I’m not actually looking forward to dying.”

She picked up the coffee pot again and took as swig, elbowing the locker door shut. There was at least a quarter of a pot left to consume, though it was looking like the filter was not doing its job. There were a couple prominent bits of coffee grounds at the bottom.

“Seriously though,” Avery said, ignoring the growing scowl aimed her way. “When is doomsday? I need to know so I can plan my apocalypse playlist.”

The slamming of the locker room door was the only answer that she got.

 

* * *

 

The last paycheck from the Taco Shack was sitting in the mailbox on top of a flier for a library related fundraiser. The flier, as always, went directly into the trash. The check – all two hundred and five dollars of it – was immediately cashed in on. As Avery still had at least two slices of pizza left from her previous food splurge, she decided that this time her money would first go towards gas for her truck with the remainder funneled straight towards art supplies.

Art Rally was the local art supply store, which made its money off the university art department as well as the local cache of starving artists. As she had recently re-stocked up on stuff for class, this trip was more of a personal supply run than anything else.

Wonder upon wonders, there was a bin full of bags of cheap charcoal sticks near the front with a sale sign declaring them to be discontinued and therefore heavily marked down in price. Being so shitty that no one really ever bought them unless desperate, there were many, many bags. This apparently translated to the store being extremely desperate to unload them for space because that sign was marked at two dollars a bag.

After some quick calculations and thorough counting, Avery decided to buy out the entire stock – about twenty-five bags worth. The store clerk looked both shocked and suspicious at this purchase, but since she added in two sketchbooks, some pens, and a package of mechanical pencils to round everything out, they said nothing.

Carrying the bags out to the truck, she stowed away the charcoal in the interior of an old tool box she kept in the space in front of the passenger seat. Since she never actually had passengers, such space needed to be used up by something. Said box had a combination lock on it that hopefully would prevent any goblins from trying to circumvent her attempt to become their resident charcoal dealer. The rest of her purchases went shoved into her backpack after some creative rearrangement – that is, she took twenty minutes to clean out the debris at the bottom.

Not that she actually threw out said debris – why waste it when it could be used to further ingratiate herself to the goblin horde. It pretty much consisted of crumpled old receipts, candy wrappers, and broken pastels all of which were probably delicacies or whatever. She secured this trash turned recyclables in a spare plastic bag pulled from the stash in her glove box.

Sighing, Avery clicked on her seatbelt and glanced in the rearview mirror.

“I know that I probably shouldn’t even bother trying to contemplate the logistics of this,” she said, turning to slide open the window between the front cab and the back of the truck. A pair of molten eyes glared out at her. “But how? Follow up question to that is going to be why, by the way. In case you want to include that in the initial explanation.”

She paused, remembering that her truck bed had been filled with plastic containers and other miscellaneous junk that wasn’t necessarily art related.

“Second follow up question, where’s the crap that was back there?”

“At the museum,” Bular grumbled in response, answering only the very last of her questions. He shifted a bit, the movement causing the truck to shake slightly. “Goblins ate half of it.”

“Oh joy.”

He snorted, eyes flicking to watch some pedestrians walking by the front of the truck. Having consumed far too much caffeine for any kind of headache to develop, Avery none-the-less felt as if she should be having a migraine right at that moment. Keying the ignition, she reached over and cranked up the AC before pulling out of the parking lot. Hopefully it would actually work instead of sputtering out like it usually did since rolling down the tinted windows was suddenly not an option.

“So, since I am apparently now a chauffeur in addition to everything else,” she said, eyeing the stoplight ahead as the pulled into traffic. “Where are we going?”

“What?”

“It’s Sunday, I just filled up the tank and I’ve got enough money right now that a long distance drive is not out of the question, so long as it’s not something insanely far away. Like Mexico. Or Canada.”

She could see him staring at her through the rearview mirror, expression almost like a puzzled frown. At least, that’s what she thought it might be – admittedly, he tended to always look pissed off to some degree. This expression was entirely new and lacked any of the irritation she’d seen there previous.

“Okay, you’re taking too long to say anything, so I’m gonna pick,” Avery announced, flicking on the blinker and taking the corner a little slower than she normally would. There was half an idea bubbling up in her mind that, if pulled off successfully, would be somewhat cool. If pulled off unsuccessfully, she’d probably get arrested for trespassing and he’d be stuck in another county trying to figure out how to get back. “Don’t worry, it’s shady.”

She frowned to herself on that wording as the highway on ramp loomed up.

“Shady as in actual shade, not sketchy…you probably didn’t need that clarification.”

 

* * *

 

“Those are trees?”

It had taken roughly four hours to actually reach the intended destination – Redwood National Park. The grumbling had started after the first hour, but hadn’t escalated to anything more than minor complaining. Avery accredited this to the fact that anything more substantial would have left her heliophobic passenger stranded on the side of the highway in broad daylight. In her defense, the map had made it look a hell of a lot closer than it actually was.

The sun was pretty much set by the time she found the old trail her uncle had shown her back when he’d been less of a shitbag and more of a semi-decent individual. Or at least, back when he was better at hiding the shitbag aspect of his personality – hindsight and greater awareness of society in general had led her to believe that he had actually always been a terrible person.

Thankfully, there was not a single park ranger in sight – she had read somewhere that the trails in this section had been closed off from the public temporarily. With the truck pulled off to the side and the light growing dimmer with each passing minute, it was pretty much safe for Bular to open up the tailgate and climb out.

“Yes, those are trees,” Avery said, tossing her sketchbook onto the hood of her truck before climbing up after it. “Redwoods. Biggest one is maybe three hundred feet tall, I think? I could be wrong, I am not a studier of trees.”

He did not seem to be paying attention to what she was saying, instead moving out from where the truck was parked to look around. She watched him for a little while, marveling slightly at how something his size could move so fluidly. Especially since he looked like he was made out of stone – maybe slate or a really dark granite, though much like trees she was not a studier of rocks.

At least he seemed distracted enough by the outdoors to not catch her staring again. Taking a deep breath, Avery flipped open her sketchbook to a clean page and pulled out a book light to snap to the binding. It was a poor excuse for proper lighting and any sketches made would probably look terrible, but it was a way to occupy her time.

Like hell she was going to go wandering off into the woods at night – there might be bears.


	9. Common Courtesy

Sometime around two in the morning Avery had crawled back into the cab of her truck in search of the twelve pack of cherry cola she usually had stashed under the passenger seat. Except the box was empty – the new one she had bought was stashed in the museum fridge. The only drinks on hand were water and some orange Gatorade, neither of which had the caffeine needed to keep her awake. She had been rather upset at this, but the actual crash happened before she could work up much steam to rant at the universe at large.

Now she was staring up at the ceiling of the cab, puzzling over the fact that the interior was actually clearly visible rather than pitch black in a way that usually required squinting and a phone light to find anything. She sat up – this was a bad decision, as the change in angle was basically an invitation to be directly blinded.

“Fuck the sun,” Avery muttered, falling back down against the seat and rubbing at her eyes. A half second later she snapped back to sitting up, alarmed and alert. “Fuck, the sun!”

She twisted to look through the back window of the cab – the truck bed was empty and the tailgate was still down. Kicking the driver’s side door open, she scrambled out and circled around the truck to scan the immediate area. There was nothing but greenery, rocks, and absurdly tall trees in the vicinity of her truck.

At least she’d been right about there being a lot of shade – it seemed her truck cab was the only thing getting directly spot beamed by sunlight.

“I wonder if losing your boss’s boss is a fire-able offense.”

Reluctantly, she pulled out her phone and checked the time. She would definitely be missing her Monday classes, that was for sure. There were a grand total of fifteen messages and five missed calls, three of which were from a number labelled in her contacts as _The Fuschia One_. Taking a deep breath, she tapped the dial button and raised her phone up to her ear all while continually scanning the tree line.

“ _Where were you_?”

“Wow, not even a greeting,” Avery couldn’t help but comment. The anger coming out the phone speaker was definitely real, but she was at least four hours away from any repercussions for her snark at the moment. “Rude.”

“ _I’m not going to ask again, human._ ”

“Right, funny story actually. A mutual tall and terrifying acquaintance stuffed himself in the back of my truck yesterday.”

“ _What?_ ” asked Nomura, her voice now sounding genuinely surprised and more than a little bit alarmed by this information. “ _What did you do?_ ”

“Um, well, he seemed a little bored so…well…we went on a road trip.”

“ _A road trip? You took Bular on a road trip?”_

“Yes.”

“ _Where?_ ”

“Redwood National Forest,” Avery answered, leaning against the side of the truck. “Except, there’s a little bit of a problem, although little probably isn’t the adjective to use here. Something synonymous with big would be a better descriptor.”

“ _Get to the point._ ”

“Well, he sort of wandered off last night and never came back.”

“ _WHAT_!?”

 

* * *

 

Avery sat in the back of her truck, absently gnawing on her left thumbnail as the uneven buckets of rain dropped onto the roof. According to her phone, it was almost four in the afternoon. An extremely long chain of text exchanges between herself, Nomura, and Stricklander concerning exactly how to fix this situation was strung out on the screen. There had been at least five death threats thus far for her part in causing this problem – at this point she was beginning to think that no amount of snark was ever going to convince them that death was actually something she was greatly looking forward to.

Especially now, since it was raining and slowly becoming colder than she could tolerate – her jacket was in the cab, so she had stuck her arms inside her shirt in a desperate attempt to keep out the chill. It was probably warmer in the cab, but returning there would require climbing back outside and that meant becoming soaked as rainwater sluiced down through branches in periodic waterfalls. She glanced at the window, considering whether or not she’d be able to fit through it without scraping off skin.

She had just decided to risk it when an annoyed sounding snort rang out from just beyond the truck tailgate. Taking a deep breath, Avery turned slowly back to aim her best glare directly at Bular. He did not looked particularly perturbed by this, just mildly irritated by the rainwater dripping down his face.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

He blinked, possibly in surprise at the amount of irritation she had managed to pack into one question or maybe in confusion at the question itself – this was the first time she’d aimed an f-bomb in his direction rather than just dropping one within the general vicinity. The surprise didn’t last long, as he seemed to decide to ignore the question in favor of bracing a hand on the roof as if intent on climbing in. Avery – having had some foresight and no small amount of time – had found a tree branch earlier and now used this to snap the tailgate back up before he could do so.

The action caused him to hop back and aim a snarl in her direction.

“Don’t snarl at me!” she snapped, setting the branch aside and folding her arms over her chest, meeting him scowl for scowl. “I’ve been sitting here for hours, putting up with the Avocado’s increasingly ludicrous threats on my life. And I mean ludicrous as in feasible but ridiculous. I mean, I’m fairly certain that you can bludgeon someone to death with the Encyclopedia Britannica – it’s definitely heavy enough – but why go through the amount of effort that would take when a rock in a sock would work just as well?”

“I’m contemplating saving him the effort right now.”

“And then what? You’ll drive yourself back? Good luck with that.”

Bular growled, but the effect was somewhat lost as the tree under which the truck was parked decided to drop what probably amounted to a small tub’s worth of water on his head. He sputtered, stepping back further and shaking himself to get rid of the excess. Avery tried very hard to stifle a chuckle, but was ultimately unsuccessful – his glare at the sound only sealed the deal. Soon she had fallen sideways, unable to breath from laughing so hard. The fact that he looked about ready to tear the truck apart because of this just made her laugh even harder.

“I’m going to rip you limb from limb, _human_ ,” he informed her darkly, reaching and grasping with one hand into the back. Her breath was just coming back when she felt a claw snagging on the hem of her jeans. Before she could react, Avery found herself dragged forward and face to face with a very angry troll. “Open the gate.”

“Say please.”

This was, apparently, the very last thing he had expected of her when being glared at with a two inch distance.

“What?”

“Say please,” she repeated, trying very hard not to focus on the fact that he was gripping the back of his shirt and some of her hair to hold her up to eye level. “As in…’please open the tailgate’?”

“Why should I beg you?”

“It’s not begging, it’s courtesy. I could have left you.”

Bular stared at her for a moment, then slowly unclenched his grip on the back of her shirt. The rain had stopped somewhat, though it being so late in the afternoon it was likely the sun would not be making a return appearance. Still, he seemed to cast a glance towards the sky as if calculating the risk.

“Have it your way, _human_ ,” he growled, looking back at her with an expression that plainly said he was extremely not happy with having to play along. “ _Please_ open the tailgate.”

The last bit was said in a bitter and mocking tone, but Avery decided that she had probably pressed her luck as far as it was going to go today. She flipped up the latch and kicked the tailgate down, tossing the branch from earlier outside before hopping down herself. Stepping swiftly aside, she made a bowing motion and a sweeping gesture with her hands.

“Your chariot awaits, _my liege_.”

That earned her a bewildered look as he climbed inside, pulling the tailgate shut as he did so. He didn’t comment on it until she had rounded around to the cab and climbed inside.

“Liege?”

“I was being sarcastic,” she informed him, plucking her keys up from the center console. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“I don’t know, I kind of like the sound of it.”

Smirking to herself, Avery keyed the ignition.

 

* * *

 

It was almost midnight when Avery backed her truck into the loading dock at the museum and killed the engine. Stricklander was standing near the door, managing a rather respectable glower as she hopped out and went to pull the tailgate open. Bular climbed out as she stepped back, stretching slightly before heading through the loading door – despite mental berating, she watched every movement until he was out of sight.

“Oh, do stop gaping,” Stricklander scolded, that disapproving expression still plastered on his face. “It’s unseemly.”

“Unseemly? You know what’s unseemly? Death threats involving allegory relating to Milan’s strategy in dealing with the Plague. If you’re going to go all historical with your threats, at least use something that was actually a hundred percent successful in its execution.”

Now he was gaping at her as she slammed the tailgate shut again.

“What?”

“You actually understood the reference?”

“For fuck’s sake, Captain Chartreuse,” she said, trying to make it sound as if she was extremely offended by the mere notion that she would not understand the reference. This was made easier by the lack of caffeine in her system – offended being a brand of irritation which was definitely in abundant supply right then.  “History classes are a state mandated requirement for art majors, of course I understood it.”

The nickname did not seem to amuse him very much. He drew himself up slightly, straightening his coat in what was most certainly an indignant manner.

“Your flippant attitude is going to get you in a lot of trouble someday,” he told her darkly, moving to return back inside. “If I were you, I’d curb your tendency towards irreverent remarks.”

“Or what?” Avery asked, calling out after him. He didn’t turn back, but that didn’t exactly deter her shouting. “You’ll pull a Nero and play the violin while I burn to death?”

The loading dock door creaked and then started to roll down back into place. She tilted her head, leaning down with it in order to continue yelling at his shoes.

“You know that didn’t actually happen right?”


	10. Distractions

There was a line at the convenience store.

With only one cashier working and the leading person in line being a little old woman reviewing what appeared to be a solid brick of scratch off tickets, Avery estimated that her afternoon goal of refueling her truck before work was going to take a hell of a lot longer than usual. Shifting her grip on her shopping basket, she pulled her phone out from her back pocket and glanced down at the screen. There was a long line of messages waiting to be shunted into the trash bin.

The sound of someone clearing their throat from somewhere behind her drew her attention from this task. Frowning, she slowly turned to look over her shoulder only to spot a squat looking high schooler in a somewhat familiar looking sweater vest. It took a second of squinting before she realized just where and when she had encountered said garment before.

"Taco Boy."

"It's Toby, actually," he corrected, arms folded over his chest in what was probably supposed to be an attempt at being stern. Said attempt was foiled by the bag of chips and the magazine with the giant robot on it folded under one elbow. "Well, Tobias but-"

"Uh huh, uh huh, I don't care."

"Rude."

"In case you didn't notice, I don't work at the Taco Shack anymore,” Avery informed him, turning back to check how far the line had moved. “I can be as rude as I want because you are no longer actually a customer and I don’t have to pretend that a conversation with a high schooler is the most fascinating thing on my schedule.”

Much to her immediate disappointment, the line had not moved and Taco Boy had not been deterred. Faced with risking being stuck on the side of the road with an empty gas tank or enduring standing in line with a former customer for the next hour, she was fairly certain she'd rather jump off the museum roof. Since getting to the museum to jump from the roof required gas, it seemed she only had one option.

Annoyed, she turned back to look at him.

"Okay, fine, since we aren’t going anywhere...what do you want, Taco Boy?"

"Three things...one - you promised to trade me your copy of _Ninja Cats : The Reckoning_ at least two months ago," he listed, pretty much forgetting her irritated tone as he counted off on his fingers. Another kid walked up behind him with a slushee in hand, blue track jacket also vaguely familiar - her brain automatically labelled him as 'Taco Boy's sidekick' for ease of reference. "Two - do you still have that karaoke machine for sale, and three - please, please, _PLEASE_ come back to the Taco Shack, no one else wraps the burritos properly."

"Listen, as much as I feel your pain regarding incorrectly wrapped burritos, if I ever smell the inside of that truck again I will have a psychotic breakdown and probably cause untold amounts of property damage."

"That doesn't sound pleasant," commented Taco Boy's sidekick, before taking a sip of his slushee. "Should probably avoid that at all costs."

"Yeah...”

"So...what about the other stuff then?"

"I'll check my dorm for the video game and get back to you," Avery said with a mildly harried sigh, noting that the lottery lady seemed to be almost finished. "I'm sure it's buried under my bed somewhere, but the karaoke machine...that's broken beyond repair."

"You sure?" Taco Boy asked, putting on what was probably a boastful expression as he gestured towards his friend. "Between the two of us, we're pretty good at fixing things."

"If you can fix a snapped circuit board and chewed on wires I'd be impressed. Already threw it out, though so..."

In truth, said karaoke machine had been the target of the goblins and their never-ending quest for inedible things to make edible. Having previously been stored in the back of her truck prior to the road trip, it now was in pieces in the loading dock at the museum. The only thing still intact was the microphone and a singular warped speaker.

"...oh, look the line is moving. Yay."

Avery edged her way up to the counter, hoping that this would put an end to any further discussion. The clerk looked entirely disinterested in her haul of energy drinks, beef jerky, and instant macaroni. She paid for her items, bought a scratch off in honor of the lady who held up the line, as well as purchased a couple gallons of gas over the course of a three minute transaction. She then hurried back out to her truck, depositing the food in the front seat before maneuvering around to the pump.

Orange and blue approached on the edge of her vision a few seconds after she had managed to pry open the gas tank.

"What now, Taco Boy?"

"Toby."

"That is exactly what I said.”

“Uh huh, right,” he said in a somewhat uncertain tone. The recovery was quick, as he seemed to disregard the continued dedication to the unwanted nickname in favor of pursuing his questioning. “Who are you making burritos for now?”

“That is a very big assumption you’re making there,” Avery pointed out, eyes on the gas meter as it ran. “Two big assumptions actually - that I’m still making burritos and that I would actually tell you where I would hypothetically be making said burritos.”

“It’s a transferable skill.”

“I know this is going to shock you, but I’m not making burritos anymore.”

“ _No_!”

“Yes, as unbelievable as that may sound, I have moved beyond the drudgery of the food service industry,” she supplied as the pump turned off with a click. She replaced the gas cap and wiped her hands off on her already overly smudged jeans. “No longer do I have to suffer through hot grease splattering everywhere and the potential of chopping off fingers while dicing tomatoes.”

Avery yanked the truck door open, fully intent to climb in and drive off but Taco Boy was giving her a depressed look. His friend just seemed amused by the entire situation, enjoying the scene while consuming the contents of his slushee.

“Look, Taco Boy-”

“Toby.”

“Whatever, look - there’s a place off of Spring Drive called El Rancho or something like that. They’re decently priced, the burritos are the size of a small child, and they are wrapped correctly. Do with this information what you will.”

“ _Thank you_.”

With that impartment, Avery climbed into her truck and slammed the door shut. She only tossed a cursory glance in the mirror to make sure both of the kids had moved well out of the way before pulling out. A very brief glance at her message laden phone told her she had just enough time to stop off at her dorm to pick up a fresh change of clothes.

Or at least, fresher than her current attire which was caked in charcoal and chalk - neither of which she had actually worked with today. It was something about being in the art building for more than twenty minutes that attracted dusty particles of all types. She was surprised that she had not accumulated any multi-colored pastel stains during any of her classes, as those were almost just as bad.

Having entirely forgotten her encounter at the gas station as she mused over the perils of the art world, Avery turned her truck into the parking garage outside her dorm. This seemed to be her lucky day, as there was a single space on the second floor near the walkway bridge. She parked, but left her foodstuffs in the cab, first checking to make sure none of the goblins were lurking in the truck bed to eat it while she was gone. Satisfied that her dinner would not be stolen, she hopped out and slammed the door shut.

Heading across the walkway, she mused on whether or not she should check her mailbox first. It being downstairs presented a mild hassle that she ended up deciding was not worth the effort. Especially since she had already gotten her financial aid for the month, there’d be nothing of interest, not even a new paycheck. Nomura had insisted on her setting up a direct deposit for her paychecks from the museum and the first two weeks’ worth had already gone through. This had left her with a positive balance that actually allowed for purchasing more than one meal a day, something she'd already started taking advantage of.

One floor up and five doors down the hallway, Avery pulled out her key card to enter her dorm room with the full intention of ignoring her roommates should they be present and in a conscious state. They were not either of those things - instead the couch was occupied by the exact last person in the entire universe that she ever wanted to see. He looked up as the door fell shut behind her, face breaking out into a grin as cheap as the bouquet in his hand.

“Hello ‘Rissa.”


	11. Midnight Snack

The steering wheel slowly came into focus, the familiar crack running diagonal across the front looking a million times worse in the glare of the streetlight outside. Fixing it would probably cost a couple hundred dollars more than the truck was actually worth. Teeth gritted, Avery pried her fingers loose from their death grip on the wheel, flexing them as carefully and methodically as stiff joints would allow. A very brief memory of a campus pamphlet concerning carpal tunnel exercises bubbled up from the recesses of her brain - she forced back the giggle that thought brought out.

The truck door seemed a million times more heavy than usual as she swung it open, climbing out into the parking lot with just her keys in hand. She shouldered it shut, eyes on the museum and the solid looking rectangle that was the side staff entrance. Every step took too long, every flash of headlights from cars driving past on the main road was a minor heart attack. Finding the right key was an endeavor, that she managed to do so without dropping them a monumental feat.

There was a goblin sitting a few feet down the corridor from the door, watching as she slammed it shut and bolted the lock. Avery looked at it, gaze flicking to the nametag embedded in its ear - the surface was pitted and worn, but the designation of 'Greg' could still be deciphered.

"... _bawaga_?"

"No, no," she responded, voice sounding way too faint to carry any weight at all. "I'm fine, everything's fine."

The locker room door seemed a hell of a lot further away than she remembered it being. She stared down the corridor at it, not even noticing as the goblin scampered off into the shadows. A deep breath or two or three later, she took a few shuffling steps forward - eyes locked onto her intended destination.

She was halfway down the hall when the banging started on the door.

Closing her eyes, Avery willed the sound to go away - it didn't. If anything, it became more insistent with each passing second, accompanied by muffled but angry shouting. Her hands had clenched themselves into fists, nails digging painfully into her palms.

A faint snort and the disturbance in the air that accompanied it had her eyes snapping open again. The walking chunk of darkness that was Bular stood in front of her, the glow of his gaze on her uncomfortably sharp. How he had managed to move in so close without her hearing him would have been a mystery if it weren't for the pounding on the door. She saw his gaze flick briefly past her and then back, an expression of irritation forming on his face.

"Answer it."

Avery stared up at him, mouth dropping open to argue only for the words to get caught at the back of her throat. His eyes - bright and burning - brooked no argument. She dropped her own gaze to the floor and turned back, heart pounding louder than the fists on the door.

The return trip was far too quick.

She looked at the knob, then glanced quickly over her shoulder at the corridor. The lone fluorescent light that usually illuminated the halls was out, but she could still see Bular's eyes, watching her intently. Unclenching her fists, she took in a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The street lamp outside was flickering.

That was all that had processed before Avery felt the hand twisting into the collar of her shirt, grip locking tight even as the forearm it was attached to shoved her back through the doorframe. Three stumbled and forced steps backwards, light spilling in briefly - there was blood on his face, a bruise forming on his cheek, and a rage in his eyes she had hoped to never see again.

" _You_ broke _my_ nose."

As the door swung shut again to block out the light, she saw a goblin creep along the top of the wall over the frame. A decision was made somewhere at the back of her brain. She didn't argue with it - the impulse had already fired.

Her knee connected a little off to the side of her intended target, but the effect wound up being the same. His grip on her shirt loosened and she jerked back, scrambling to get away before he could make a recovery. She didn't look back, but ran straight for the spot where Bular had been lurking just moments before.

Sneakers squeaked on linoleum, her own and her pursuer's - she heard cursing though the words themselves didn't process. What did filter through, however, was when the footfalls that were chasing her stopped. She had made it past the locker room door, heart pounding and barely drawing breath. The double doors to the center atrium were ten steps away when she slowed to a halt, the silence deafening.

Slowly, she turned back.

The fluorescent lights snapped on at full strength, the abruptness acute in its diminishment of her vision. All she saw were silhouettes - a troll's bulky frame holding up a limp, vaguely humanoid form. She blinked rapidly, raising a hand to rub the spots from her vision. When it cleared and details returned to her, all that was left to see was a goblin scampering off with a shoe stuck in its mouth and Bular licking his lips.

Avery stared at him.

He noticed after a second, a smirk breaking out across his face. The lights flickered, dimming back to their usual lack of luminosity. Down the corridor she saw another goblin tackle the one who had stolen the shoe, resulting in a brief tug of war over the piece of footwear. She didn't know which one of them won - a sort of light headedness had overtaken her senses.

Very, very slowly, she lowered herself down to sit on the floor.

The lack of reaction must have been seen as troubling. Before she could even begin to process what had just happened, Bular was crouching down to scowl at her more directly. This apparently was not going the way he had planned it out. She wasn't quite certain what he was expecting her reaction to be.

"You _ate_ him."

"Yes."

" _You_ ate him," she repeated, eyes involuntarily wide. "You ate _him._ "

The scowl took on a slightly more concerned tinge to it. Bular snorted, shifting to sit on floor as well though this didn't exactly change the angle of exchange by much.

"Yes, I ate him," he agreed, tone slightly snappish. "That has been established."

There was more staring, which would have probably taken up no small amount of time if it weren't for the sound of heeled footsteps approaching. They slowed to a stop a few feet away, making an assessment of the situation before proceeding closer.

"What happened?" Nomura asked, taking up a position just barely within sight range. When there was no immediate answer offered up, she gave an impatient sounding huff. "Well?"

"He _ate_ my ex-boyfriend."

There was a silence, in which previous assessments of the situation were revised using this newly proffered information.

"Did you at least ensure the cameras were off this time?"

"Yes."

That answer sounded annoyed and put upon, which told Avery all that she needed to know about how usual of an occurrence this was. Her hands snapped up to cover her mouth as the giggles started, but even that couldn't muffle them. Shrill and squeaky, they escaped and continued until she was at a loss for breath and nearly doubled over. Tears blurring her vision, she saw Nomura looking at her in alarm.

"Ha...haha...my name," Avery gasped out, trying to draw in oxygen while simultaneously projecting the one thought that was searing her brain right now through continued giggles. "...my name...heh...rhymes...my name rhymes with savory."

Pronouncement made, she proceeded to pass out.


	12. Wake Up Calls

Avery was not entirely certain how long she had been staring up at the ceiling tiles. Long enough for creeping thoughts on the probability of asbestos and cancer to bubble up, at the very least. Consciousness was a strange and nebulous thing that brought with it many realizations. Such as the fact that she was not collapsed in a heap on cold linoleum and was, instead, lying on the medical cot in the little side office connected to the main locker room.

It was apparent that, during her bout with the void of involuntary inertness, she had been moved. Whom had done the moving was a mystery, though at least one suspect was crossed off the list immediately - the office door was far too narrow for a monstrosity of Bular's size. The goblins were next off the list as even collectively they had not been observed to lift anything more than fifty pounds. That left her to imagine Nomura dragging her unconscious frame around, which had probably proved to be somewhat difficult.

Her perpetual state of sleep deprivation more than likely had not helped matters. It must have been like trying to move a warped piece of plywood and taken at least twenty minutes of maneuvering. There had probably been cursing involved, which Avery regretted missing out on.

Taking a deep breath, she sat up and immediately regretted it.

It was difficult to accurately describe the pain that now made itself known - 'headache' was such an underwhelming word. This felt more like several sentient tornadoes had taken up residence inside her skull and started a heavy metal band. Practice was in session with no sign of improvement.

" _Waga_!"

Beyond the edge of the cot a coffee mug rose into view, supported by spindly green fingers. Avery watched as it was set down and then pushed carefully but insistently towards her. Slowly, she reached over to pick it up, noticing the steam still billowing out from within as well as the paint stains marring the rim. Vaguely, she recalled having dumped her paint mug in the break room sink a day or two ago, with every intent to wash it out some time in the future.

At least three goblins were now watching her intently from the edge of the cot.

"This is the second nicest thing anyone has ever done for me," she informed them sincerely, raising the mug up in a pseudo-salute before downing the contents as quickly as possible. There was a faint aftertaste that resembled the scent of dried up acrylics. All in all, not the worst thing she'd ever consumed. She eyed the now empty cup with a speculative expression, before glancing back at the goblins. "Thank you.”

“ _Taga_!”

They scurried off as she tried desperately not to think about how the ‘non-toxic’ label on every tube of paint was most definitely lying. The caffeine would help with the headache but there was a chance her intestines would rebel sometime within the next few hours. Mug still in hand, she climbed to her feet and shuffled into the locker room only to stop short in the doorframe.

The goblins were evidently not the only ones who had come to express their concerns.

“You’re awake.”

“Yep.”

There was a long silence after this singular syllable affirmation that could only have been described as absurdly awkward. Avery spent it staring at her coffee mug trying to figure out a way to get around addressing what had occurred a few hours previous. At least, she was assuming it had been a few hours – the sudden thought that she might have been out for days was extremely disconcerting.

“You’re upset.”

“No, no, I am the exact opposite of upset,” she said by way of hurried assurance, looking up from her mug in time to catch the lava lamp glow of eye roll in response to her words. Evidently, Bular did not believe her in the slightest. “A little freaked out – yes, absolutely. But upset – no.”

“You seemed upset.”

“ _That_ was shock and honestly, justifiable?”

He huffed, pushing himself up to his feet, horns just barely missing the light fixture. Avery ever so briefly wondered exactly how tall he actually was, but he seemed intent on leaving the conversation where it was. It took a few seconds to realize that his entire posture now was an exact mirror for the night he’d watched her clean out the break room fridge. She couldn’t help but chuckle then, a smile breaking out on her face.

“What?” Bular asked, eyes narrowing as his expression transitioned from mildly annoyed pout to a slightly angrier than default scowl. “What’s so funny?”

“You didn’t like it when you thought I wasn’t afraid of you and now? Now you don’t like it when you’ve seen that I am.”

He stared at her, expression still a scowl though his hands did a slow clench into fists for a moment before prying themselves apart. That observation of hers had apparently been too spot on her his tastes. Still, she figured that continuing down this line of speech was probably the best option at this point.

“I don’t think either of us is particularly good at actually expressing things like feelings other than with scowling on your part and sarcasm on mine but I'm going to give it a try,” Avery rambled, taking in a deep breath before making direct eye contact and mustering up as much sincerity as she could to continue. “You are terrifying, but you literally ate my worst nightmare. Which makes you my favorite person from now until the end of my probably short and pathetic life.”

There was more staring, though the scowl seemed to slowly shift into something a bit more on the smug side.

“ _That_ was your worst nightmare?”

“Yeah, I know, I’m terribly unimaginative.”

“Didn’t taste very good either.”

 


	13. Parley

The parameters for the final projects for the studio classes were exactly as needlessly complicated and terrifying as Avery had expected them to be. She had managed to escape with the instructions before the collective stress level of the entire art department reached critical mass. As a distraction, the finals announcement was fantastic in that the looming threat of possible failure kept anyone from asking about the absurd amount of foundation she had caked on her face.

The bruise was sizable and had taken on some very interesting colors since its formation. Covering it up had been especially annoying what with the goblins trying to steal her makeup sponges and Nomura snickering unhelpfully in the background. The knowledge that this would be the very last time that she would ever have to hide a bruise from her ex was the only thing that kept her from setting the lot of them on fire.

Well, that and the lack of incendiary devices within reach.

Unfortunately, cheap liquid foundation combined with a lack of setting powder meant that by the time she had left class and finished emptying her dorm room of everything she could fit in her truck it had pretty much melted off. Not that the cashier at Art Rally took any notice – she probably could have walked through that store covered in blood and not gotten so much as a second glance. Given that the majority of art students tended to exist in a state of perpetual mess, Avery supposed a bruise wasn’t that unusual.

Armed with paper of a quality finer than most bed sheets and a new set of charcoal pencils, she left the shop just in tim to witness the sweater vested form of Taco Boy pulling his friend out of the manhole in the middle of the street. They hastily dropped the cover into place only for a familiar rocky fist to punch it straight up from underneath. Gravity slammed it back down a moment later and the two of them flopped back on the asphalt with expressions like ones who had only just managed to avoid the sweet embrace of death.

There was a brief moment in which Avery hoped she would not be spotted.

This hope was dashed as traffic made itself known, car horns herding the teens to the nearest sidewalk – right where she was standing. Given that the two of them still seemed to be recovering from whatever form of exertion they’d just gone through, she decided it was probably best to get the upperhand in the conversation before it even started. Silently lamenting her lack of an intimidation factor, she took in a steadying breath before proceeding.

“Taco Boy.”

“Oh, hey whaaaaaaaa….what is wrong with your face?!”

“I got into a fight with a brick wall.”

“Did the wall win?” asked the friend of Taco Boy with a note of concern in his voice. Avery was mildly irritated to discover that he was actually the same height as her when not slouching under the weight of a book bag. Previous encounters at the Taco Shack with its elevated kitchen had given her a false sense of altitude that was now swiftly falling apart. “That is seriously one nasty bruise.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a fair fight,” she admitted, the shopping bag containing her new pencils sliding to her elbow as she reached a hand up to itch the side of her nose. “The wall had some help.”

“That’s a metaphor,” Taco Boy said, squinting at her with sudden suspicion. “What are you hiding?”

 “Uh, Tobes…what-”

“ _Jim, she saw us in the street!_ ”

A very hurried and barely whispered conversation ensued between the two teenagers, with glances in her general direction every few seconds or so. This abrupt display of discretion would have been much more effective if they had maybe moved off to the side a few feet instead of remaining right there in front of her. After a moment, the sheer absurdity of it wore off and Avery decided to just start walking back to where her truck was parked. As expected, it took them a few seconds to actually notice – they caught up with her as she dumped her purchases onto the passenger seat.

“Yes, I saw exactly what you think I saw.”

“Really?” asked Taco Boy, still with the suspicious look. He had his arms folded in an attempt to look stern. It was not effective. “What do _you_ think we thought you saw?”

“I don’t know, what do _you_ think that I think you thought I saw?”

“Well, what do _you_ think we think you think we thought you saw?”

It took everything not to react to the massive facepalm and its accompanying embarrassed groan that track jacket kid let out in response to this back and forth. He looked far more stressed than one would have ever suspected from a casual glance. Avery had a fairly good guess as to the source of at least some of it.

“Do you like milkshakes?”

“What?”

“Cause I feel like getting a milkshake,” she said, very deliberately slamming the truck door shut. “And I just so happen to have some extra half price coupons for anyone who wants them.”

“This is a trap, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s a parley, take it or leave it.”

With that pronouncement, Avery brushed past them and headed back down the sidewalk towards the diner a block down. Again they followed, another attempt at a hushed conversation happening three steps behind her.

“ _What’s a parley?_ ” Taco Boy asked of his friend in a failed whisper. “ _Is it like a meeting, but with dessert? Is that why she's offering milkshakes? But shouldn't it be parfaits?_ ”

“ _I don’t think it actually has to do with dessert, Tobes._ ”

“ _Wait, wait…I think I’ve heard that word before in a movie…_ ”

He let out an audible gasp.

“ _Parley is pirate talk! Jim, she’s a pirate! This explains so much…_ ”

“You two do know I can hear you, right?”

She had stopped in front of the diner door to turn and look at them, somewhat amused by the entirely false conclusion that had been drawn. They looked both surprised and embarrassed at this, to which she sighed and shook her head. Yanking the door open, she trudged inside towards the furthest booth back. The two of them followed a few minutes later, plopping down across from her as she glanced over the menu. Evidently they had continued their talk without her presence and reached a decision regarding her offer of drinkable frozen dairy confections.

“Alright, we’re here. Talk.”

“I am going to have a Banana Split Shake, with extra whip cream and sprinkles,” Avery stated slowly before snapping her menu shut and setting it down on the table to look at them. “Because it is delicious and given the current state of universal entropy, final exams might actually occur before the apocalypse arrives.”

The nonchalant way she had her voice pitched seemed to have thrown them for a loop judging by the blank stares she was getting now. Avery prodded their menus with her own, pushing the colorfully laminated paper insistently towards them.

“Order your shakes and then we’ll play the question game, okay?”

They exchanged a glance before picking the menus up, expressions gone serious.

“Okay,” agreed the track jacket kid. “But we get to ask the first question, deal?”

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

It took exactly fifteen minutes after ordering for the milkshakes to arrive, during which the ground rules were hammered out. They would get to ask twenty questions of her and she would get to ask twenty questions of them. There had been a minor argument in which it had been insisted that each person be allowed twenty questions instead, but Avery had won out on that in the end by threatening to leave them with the bill and no coupons.

That threat was made more effective by Taco Boy having ordered the most expensive shake on the menu. She guessed that this was meant as some kind of intimidation tactic. It might have been worked under different circumstances, but something about witnessing a sentient boulder consume a full grown human made everything sustenance related seem far less impressive.

In contrast, track jacket kid ordered a regular vanilla with a small bowl of extra cherries on the side. Whether this was politeness or habit, she wasn't sure - they hadn't taken too long with the menus and the waitress had the tired look of someone who had dealt with one too many similar teenage customers. A stack of extra napkins was deposited on the middle of the table, further bolstering that theory.

"Now remember," Avery started, carefully peeling the wrapper off of her straw. "No matter what information is exchanged here, we are all walking away at the end."

They nodded solemnly, unwrapping their own straws via the tried and true tapping on the table method. Sample sips were taken, whip cream was displaced, and a single chunk of banana was dislodged in almost complete silence - Taco boy was drumming his fingers on the table impatiently.

"You can start any time."

"How did you really get that bruise?"

"Toby!"

"What? You wanted to know too!"

"My ex-boyfriend shoved me face first into a brick wall," Avery answered in as dry a tone as she could manage. She glanced at the time on her phone and did a quick mental calculation. "About twenty-one hours ago, if my math is correct."

"Oh," Taco Boy intoned, sounding genuinely regretful. "Sorry."

"Don't dwell on it."

She fished out another banana chunk with her spoon, gulping it down before looking directly at track jacket kid - his name was JIm, she recalled from earlier exclamations. It was probably best to actually commit that data point into long term memory, she decided. She waited until he was taking a sip of his milkshake before asking her first question.

"Why was Bular trying to kill _you_?"

The exact reaction Avery had envisioned occurred, though the ensuing coughing fit resulted in a spoon nearly getting dropped on the floor and far too many napkins getting used up. At this rate the stack would be depleted and there'd be none left for her to steal.

"H-how-"

Despite aspirating whipped cream, Jim managed to snap his hand up in time to prevent a waste of a question. He took a few more seconds to clear his throat, though it looked to be mostly just a front to give him time to think. His expression had a wary cast, hands absently crumpling up a napkin.

"I...challenged him to a fight."

"That was stupid."

"Yeah," he agreed with a grimace. "Not one of my better decisions."

Avery took a long sip of her own milkshake as Taco Boy - okay, Toby - managed an actual whisper in his friend's ear. She guessed if she was going to be mentally marking Jim's name down for future reference then sweater vest deserved the same courtesy.

"Are you a changeling?"

"Negative," she responded, reaching for a napkin of her own. "I am, in fact, a one hundred percent grade-a human meatsack. USDA certified lean."

"You're weird, is what you are," Toby informed her, looking more than a little unsettled. "What kind of _human_ talks like that?"

"I'm an art student, we're all like this."

Turning her glass slightly and wiping off the base, Avery took a moment to construct her next question. The last one hadn't exactly resulted in a font of useful information.

"Why exactly would a thirteen foot walking talking boulder accept a challenge from a twig such as yourself instead of, oh, I don't know...just eating you?"

This was met with slightly widened eyes as the implications of the question settled in. It didn't even take half a second for the dots to be connected. If she had to guess, a certain angry mountain had very recently been doling out threats involving consumption of human flesh.

"You know he eats people."

"I know he eats people."

" _How_ do you know he eats people?"

Sometimes staring is enough to get a point across and Avery decided that this was definitely one of those cases. Maintaining eye contact, she returned to drinking her milkshake. The current ratio of liquid made it so that this resulted in some obnoxious sounding slurping noises. The realization and slow shift of mild panic that appeared on the two boys' faces was well worth it.

"O-oh uh," Toby said, looking even more unsettled now. "W-who did he eat?"

"That's two questions you've asked without answering mine," she pointed out, adjusting her straw to get at another liquid pocket. There was still quite a bit of ice cream left, though whether to eat it or wait for it to melt was a dilemma. "Guess I should get a to go cup."

"Hold on, back up, we did not ask two questions."

"Yeah, you did."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Okay stop," Jim said, breaking in before the exchange could go much further. Secretly, she was a little disappointed at that - they could have probably stretched the back and forth out at least another twenty minutes. But the kid had a determined look on his face, like he'd come to some kind of important decision. He looked at her, half shredded paper napkin clenched tightly in hand now. "Look, as far as I know you are the only human who knows about this stuff other than me and Toby. I don't know how you know, but if I tell you more it might put you in danger."

Avery pushed her glass aside and propped her hands on the table, meeting his determined look with a sincere one of her own.

"I'm gonna level with you, kid," she said, taking a deep breath. "I passed 'might be in danger' a long ass time ago. I've gotten at least three hundred death threats just today. A couple of them involved medieval torture devices and at least ten mentioned the Bubonic Plague in some way."

"Okay...uh...point taken."

Nodding, she slid her glass back over and picked up the spoon to jab at the ice cream chunks within. It wasn't melting fast enough, but it served as the appearance of a distraction - one which they used to hold another brief whispered conversation. By the time she'd dug out the last chunk of banana from her shake, they were sitting back up with serious expressions once more in in place.

"Alright, we're going to trust you."

It took an immense amount of self restraint not to fire out a sarcastic comment in response to that announcement. Instead, she forced herself to continue stirring up the remains of her milkshake.

"I'm the Trollhunter," Jim said, pushing his half finished shake aside. "That's why Bular accepted the challenge to fight me."

"Right, I'm guessing that kind of title comes with super powers else you'd be paste."

"Yeah, it does."

"Also armor," Toby added helpfully. "And a sword."

"Are those summoned by some sort of incantation while holding an enchanted device?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Because that's an entire genre of anime and I am outing myself as an goddamn weeb," Avery said, examining the remains of her milkshake with a careful eye before downing the rest of it in one gulp. This was a terrible decision that required the use of the remaining napkins on the table to rectify, as well as a wet nap pulled from a stash in the side pocket of Jim's bookbag. "Well, this shirt is ninety percent stains now."

"So..."

"He ate my ex."

" _Oh my god_."


	14. Pushing It

There was an unread text message on her phone from the green one. Avery's first impulse was to ignore it, under the assumption that it was yet another needlessly detailed and complicated death threat. That seemed to be the only method of communication Strickler could be bothered to employ in her general direction. That first impulse went ignored and for once this turned out to be a very good decision.

It was not a death threat.

She read the warning it twice to ensure that she wasn't actually imagining things and that the words were in the order they first appeared to be. Her phone then went tucked into the elastic lined side pocket of her backpack, a new plan slowly formulating in the mire of her thoughts. Turning off the truck, she leaned over to unlock the toolbox on the passenger side.

Underneath the stash of cheap charcoal was a bin containing a canister of industrial strength hairspray and a small tin of specialty wax. She set them on the dashboard, then pulled out two bags of charcoal before locking the box back up again - despite Nomura's views, bribery was definitely something the goblins responded to. The bags went shoved into her backpack atop her sketchbook and the new pencils she had purchased earlier.

"Okay, let us see what we can manage here," Avery muttered to herself as she adjusted the rear view mirror to examine her hair. The most recent dye job was holding up quite well but her uneven hair growth was not going to look good as a full hawk. "...spikes it is, then."

Styling her hair in the truck turned out to be something of a mistake, in that the lack of ventilation meant her head felt like it was spinning by the time she climbed out. It took several deep breaths hanging on the side of the door to regain her equalibrium, mental beration over not rolling down the windows splintered with several curses. As entertaining as internal monologues concerning lung cancer were, the minute she could see straight she slammed the door shut and rounded the back of the truck.

She pulled down the tailgate and surveyed the mess inside, adjusting the straps of her backpack in an absent way as she considered what to grab. The collapsible antenna from her old portable radio had snapped off when she’d tossed it into the back. Avery picked it up and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans before grabbing her new paper and the laundry basket full of crumpled soda cans.

Slamming the tailgate shut again, she turned and headed towards the museum employee entrance trying not to flashback to the previous night's rush to get inside. Her walk was hindered only by a leg cramp caused from sitting tensely in her truck and staring at her steering wheel for two hours straight while trying not to scream.

That was life, apparently – a successive series of moments of trying not to scream.

The very first order of business once inside was shoving her backpack into her locker, followed by laying out the paper on the security desk so that it would not get bent. She had hoped to run into a goblin at that point just so she could warn them away from trying to eat it, but alas they all seemed to be off somewhere. They had apparently already feasted on newspaper judging from the shreds she saw decorating the locker room, so she mentally crossed her fingers that they wouldn’t get the munchies later.

The next step in her newly formulated plan involved no small amount of chemistry and therefore required the use of every container she could find in the break room. Thankfully, she had purchased all of the ingredients earlier in the week and would not have to run back out for anything.

A two liter bottle of caffeine saturated knock-off Mountain Dew was pulled from the refrigerator and set on the counter next to a case of Five Hour Energy Shots. From the cabinet above the sink a generic coffee tin was retrieved, the words 'DO NOT TOUCH, WASP INSIDE' written on it in large letters with permanent marker. What was actually inside was much more dangerous - a small black and white paper bag, with labelling in Turkish. Ingredients assembled, Avery turned towards the coffee maker with a look of determination on her face.

That was when the yelling started.

The words were indistinct due to distance and walls but the tone was unmistakable - nasally and extremely indignant, making it's originator oh so readily identifiable. Avery glanced up at the ceiling and took in a deep breath - it seemed her plan would end up happening sooner rather than later. She turned back to the counter and gathered up the two liter bottle and a six-pack of the energy shots from their case. The shouting was coming from the big gallery at the very center of the building and became much more distinct as she made her way towards it.

Not that she was paying any attention to the content of the yelling. It wasn't directed at her and all parties involved in said content were occupied - Strickler with the actual yelling part and Bular with arms folded over his chest looking like he was only half listening. He wasn't watching the entrance in any case, which allowed her to slip through the plastic sheeting covering the main archway without being spotted by either of them. The only ones who appeared to have noticed her entrance were the goblins, who seemed to have taken up perches all over the scaffolding just to watch the show. They whispered and hissed, rearranging themselves to peer at her as she settled in cross-legged on a wooden crate.

For the first time Avery was able to get a good look at the gallery itself and the source of the glowiness of doom.

The most immediate thing that came to mind upon seeing the centerpiece was a memory of falling down a Wikipedia click hole concerning architecture and finding herself still awake at five in the morning staring at pictures of circle bridges. This one didn't quite fit the description of the ones she'd read about - it was definitely sporting some fancier carvings. Also there was an eerie blue light emanating from the center containing the silhouette of what she guessed to be yet another terrifying boulderesque troll. Earlier conversation had supplied her with a name for the harbinger of all things world ending and she had to remind herself that all musings concerning troll nomenclature traditions were to be left for later - provided, of course, that there was a later.

Avery slowly and methodically uncapped the two liter bottle, chugging some of the contents under the stares of goblins who now seemed very interested in what she was doing. The wrapper sealing energy shots did not react as quietly to her removal of it as the soda cap had -  Strickler's rant had been winding down, only to halt mid-sentence at the sound of crinkling plastic. He turned to gape at her and froze, eyes flicking to her hair - to his credit, he recovered quickly from the shock.

"You're not supposed to be here."

"Yeah, I stopped caring about anything you had to say about five hundred death threats ago," Avery informed him, handing the plastic off to the nearest goblin. It promptly went devoured, as did the empty bottle after she dumped the contents into the larger two liter. "Your oversaturation of the market proves you won't act on any of them."

" **What is a _human_ doing here**?"

That question was rumbled out from the silhouette in the bridge before Strickler could mutter a response to her dismissiveness. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bular's shoulders go rigid and his eyes flick over to where she was sitting. The goblins slowly slunk to hunker back in the shadows - a warning sign if ever there was one. Strickler turned back towards the bridge, posture going from zero to subservient in an instant.

"M-my lord, there are certain facades that need to be kept up and Nomura-"

More plastic wrap was peeled off the second energy shot - if glares could be weaponized, she felt certain that the entire planet would have been vaporized by the one Strickler gave her for the interruption. Avery met it straight on, letting the wrapper fall to the floor as she slowly uncapped the bottle and dumped it into the larger container.

"Oh, am I being annoying?" she asked, deliberately opening the next one as loudly as possible - this resulted in an eyebrow twitch. "So sorry, but I sold all my fucks to pay my phone bill."

There was a snarl followed by a flash of green and a glint of metal in the pallid blue of the light emanating from the bridge. A combination of caffeine and forgotten paranoid reflexes surged up, preventing the knife from burying itself in her skull. It instead embedded into the wall behind her as she tumbled sideways off the crate. Soda splashed across the tile floor, soaking her shirt as she scrambled to her feet.

Another knife went whizzing just past her nose upon finally returning to an upright position. Getting Strickler to snap at her flippancy had technically been a part of the plan, but she hadn't been expecting to dodge more than one sharp object. To buy at least a few seconds, she flung the remaining bottles of energy shots at him as hard as she could at him. It ended up being a direct hit, though it didn't produce as much of a stunning impact as she had hoped - he looked disgruntled by it at best and now she had nothing else to throw.

Strickler seemed to realize this judging by the smirk that appeared on his face, slowly reaching to draw yet another knife from the collar of his cape.

"What, no more snark?"

"You made me _waste_ soda," Avery stated, deliberately wringing her shirt out with one hand, while reaching to her back pocket with the other. A little bit of soda dripped out onto the floor as she threw her own most vehement scowl in his direction. " _You_ made me waste soda."

Another snarl and another glint of metal, followed by a clang and a clatter as the knife went spinning off across the floor. The look of shock on Strickler's face must have matched her own - she hadn't expected to move fast enough. But there they were in a frozen moment with his arm still outstretched from flinging the blade and her wielding an antenna off a broken radio.

" ** _ENOUGH_**."

Avery didn't move an inch, but she saw the smug glint in Bular's molten eyes. The green one, on the other hand, gave a startled jump as if he had forgotten where he was and who was watching.

" **Baited and shown up by a _human_** ," the silhouette growled, tone sounding as if it was accompanied by a sneer. " **How disappointing of you, Stricklander**."

"I apologize, my lord-"

" **I do not need to hear _your_ apologies**."

There was a shift in the way that hulking silhouette seemed to be standing and suddenly Avery had the distinct feeling she was being _regarded_. That was probably the best word to describe it, anyways. Maybe it should have been unnerving, but caffeine and adrenaline were a potent mixture.

" **So...a human facade, and a willing one at that**?"

"Yeah, eating my shitty ex-boyfriend earns a lot of loyalty points," Avery responded with a sideways nod towards Bular. "The money for doing nothing is really just a bonus at this point."

“ **Is _it_ always this flippant**?”

“Yes,” Strickler answered through gritted teeth, sending a glare her way. He seemed to have regained some of his composure. “ _It_ also spent the afternoon cavorting with the enemy.”

Any and all remaining goodwill towards the sentient avocado went out the window with that statement.

“Okay, first off, ‘cavorting’? Really? They are teenagers and I’m an adult, if you want a word that fits what you’re accusing then use ‘fraternizing’ instead. Secondly, how can I fraternize with the enemy when you never told me who the enemy is?”

“She has a point there, Stricklander,” Bular agreed with a chuckle. “We never did tell her about the Trollhunter.”

“Oh, of course you take her side. What was all that about _me_ going soft?”

“You dare accuse me-“

“You _apparently_ did her a huge favor eating that human last night, so yes, I do accuse you-“

“Are they always like this?” Avery asked the bridge, gesturing vaguely between the two bickering parties with the radio antenna. “Arguing?”

“ ** _Unfortunately._** ”

“Oh, but I’m sure she told the boy nothing and kept her mouth shut,” Strickler snapped, turning his glare back towards her. “After all, she’s _so_ good at it.”

“Gosh, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

“ _What did you tell him_?

“Alright, here’s the thing about teenagers,” Avery started, pointing the radio antenna directly at his nose. “They respond very well to two things – free food and being vaguely supportive. I am very good at pretending to be the latter and just so happen to have enough excess cash to supply the former.”

This earned her a the blankest of looks.

“The question you should be asking is not what I told him, but what he told me.”


End file.
